Sheep's Clothing
by happycabbage75
Summary: Just when Oliver thinks nosy accountants and gold-digging women are the worst of his problems, Chloe lands in the crossfire… Late Season 9
1. Chapter 1

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: For Oliver, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

Disclaimer: _Smallville's_ not mine, not even close, just borrowing Ollie and Chloe for a little bit.

_I have no idea where this came from since Smallville's not my usual playground. I'm going to blame it on Justin Hartley and the awesomeness that is Oliver, and leave it at that._

Prologue

* * *

Oliver knew all about being alone. He knew equally well how to hide it. He'd spent years and years learning how, refining his mask, making it more and more solid, more and more permanent until he barely thought about it anymore. It was just a part of him, something he wore as easily as the tie he put on every morning. But beneath the mask… sometimes… just nothing.

He supposed it had started the day his parents died. In one moment, he'd gone from a happy, smiling, loved, pampered child, to an orphan with nothing but money to keep him company. Nannies and lawyers and all kinds of keepers had stepped in the to make sure he was taken care of, but even then, surrounded by people, he'd been alone. It was only to be expected when everyone you knew was paid to care about you.

He'd been sent to boarding school as soon as he was old enough. He'd found friends there, or more precisely, he'd found other boys in the same boat as he was, shuffled off by people who were too busy, too rich, or too distant to care about them. His mask had formed easily and naturally as he fell in with the other boys, all drinking and partying in their desperate attempts to get their negligent parents' attention. But Oliver didn't have anyone's attention to get. His parents were dead and no one gave a rat's ass about what he did. So he partied until he convinced himself it was fun. He drank until he was so far gone, he was barely aware that there were other people there. After all, even among a bunch of rich kids, he had enough money to make them all look like fast food workers. It kind of set a guy apart, even as it drew people to him.

Then the island happened. If he'd thought he was alone before, the island had changed all that. He'd learned _exactly_ what it was to have nothing and no one but himself to rely on. He'd learned really fast that he knew absolutely nothing about basic survival, and that he was pretty boring company to boot.

In a way it had been refreshing. He didn't have to pretend, and his mask had slipped away. He'd been too concerned with not dying on that spit of land to care about anything else. He'd fought hunger and thirst and mosquitoes and sunstroke and no one to talk to but the bugs until he thought he would lose his mind. Loneliness had been his only companion, but then, by the time he'd been on the island, it was an old friend. He just didn't have to pretend he wasn't really alone.

When he got back to civilization, he'd felt almost like an island himself, completely cut off from the people around him. After his time away, the shallowness and vanity that surrounded him had been disgusting, almost repulsive. He'd tried to rejoin them, tried to become one of them, and he'd made a good show of it. His mask had reformed almost instantly.

Along with the mask, however, something else had formed, or rather some_one_ else. Green Arrow had been born. Green Arrow was formed in solitude. He worked in solitude, brought justice in solitude and as a result there was no one to pat his back for a job well done. Oliver Queen had plenty of sycophants to tell him how wonderful he was. Green Arrow needed no one to tell him he was doing the right thing.

It was good. It was different. But it was most definitely a very lonely existence. So… status quo really.

Then came Lois.

The woman was a force to be reckoned with and she'd tempted him out of his loneliness. She'd lured his heart out of hiding, and shown him that there was actually a woman on this earth who didn't care how much money he had, only that he was a _good_ man.

And then… when she knew everything… Green Arrow, his real purpose in life… she'd _dumped_ him. Lois couldn't bring herself to be a part of what needed to be done. He'd never felt so alone as he had that night. He was used to women ditching him because he was a cynical, smart-mouthed, narcissistic, womanizing jerk, not because of who he _really_ was.

Add the mess with Lex and Davis and Jimmy and it had been a downhill slide after that. Drinking, women, fighting… basically, anything but an attempt to be a useful member of society. It had taken herculean efforts to pull him out of a suicidal spiral of solitude and self-loathing.

But all of that… it somehow didn't compare to the predicament he found himself in now.

He'd imagined dying all kinds of ways. Unfortunately, flat out in the muck of a filthy Metropolis alley hadn't been high up on his list of Best Deaths Ever.

His back and chest were on fire. His attacker had dug the knife in two or three times, just for good measure. Oliver knew he'd hit a lung because the blood was bubbling from the wound. He could feel more of it in his mouth, cutting off his airway. His collapsing lung was going to make sure he died pretty quickly, he supposed, so that was good at least.

But he really hadn't wanted to die alone. He'd hoped to die at a ripe old age surrounded by his wife and children, or at least to go out in a blaze of glory saving the world from impending doom.

This? This was a lousy way to die. And he was going to die alone.

Oliver could feel the darkness creeping into his vision. For just a moment, he thought he heard a woman's voice calling to him. Wishful thinking had him hoping it was Chloe, but it was probably his imagination. At this point, he supposed, it hardly mattered.

* * *

_Don't anybody worry. Oliver is far too pretty to die. More soon…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: For Oliver, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Thank you for the kind reviews. Now let's get this story going by backing up a little bit..._

Chapter One

* * *

Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly. Paperwork. Always paperwork. It was an advantage to being Green Arrow, vigilante extraordinaire, instead of Oliver Queen, business mogul. Green Arrow didn't have to file quarterly reports for the shareholders. The outfit was better, too.

The intercom on his desk buzzed. "Yes?"

"_There's a gentleman here to see you, Mr. Queen_."

Oliver sighed, and tried to keep the aggravation from his tone. It wasn't his secretary's fault no one knew what an appointment was for. "Who is it? I was about to call it a day."

"_He says he's from accounting and that it's very important_."

"You verified that he's who he says?" It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to weasel his way in by saying he already worked for him.

"_Yes, sir. He says he has an extremely important issue to discuss and that he has supporting documentation with him_."

Oliver very distinctly heard the smile in her voice. She knew just how much he loved paperwork. Then again, she also thought he was a boozing, womanizing playboy who would rather do anything than work. It was a delicate balance to keep his parents' company running smoothly without _looking_ like he worked so hard to get it done.

"All right," Oliver said, sounding every bit the put-upon boss. "Send him in."

A few seconds later, a man timidly came through the doors into the office. He was a dark-haired, thirtyish man, wearing a cheap, although neat suit. He looked around the state of the art office with wide eyes, and Oliver doubted the guy had ever been quite so high up in the building before. He had the distinct air of a low-level worker-bee.

Oliver sat back in his chair and once again tried to tamp down his annoyance. After all, the guy had to have something pretty important to have worked up his nerve to come in the first place. Not every peon had the nerve to track down the CEO and demand to see him, and without an appointment no less.

"What can I do for you, Mr…?"

"Willmington-Pruett."

Oliver held back his smirk, barely. "Well, there's a mouthful."

The man didn't so much as bat an eye and Oliver pursed his lips. Accountants… no sense of humor.

"What can I do for you?" Oliver put on his business face. He really didn't want to be here anymore, especially not talking to one of the bean-counters. "I need you to make this quick. I have somewhere to be."

The man cleared his throat. "Mr. Queen… sir…"

"Spit it out, Mr. Will…" Oliver huffed impatiently. "What's your first name?"

"Gregory, sir."

"Great. Greg. Let's get this show on the road. What's so important that you had to barge into the office of the CEO at six o'clock on a Friday evening?"

"I… I found…"

"You found…" Oliver made a rolling hand motion to encourage him.

"I… I'm in charge of several accounts that were handed over to me when you bought a controlling stake in Luthorcorp."

"Good for you," Oliver said. "And?"

"And I've noticed several anomalies." The man's nervousness seemed to lessen as he opened a folder in front of him and began to pull out several sheets of paper. He brought them to Oliver and fanned them out on the desk in front of him. "This… here and here…" He pointed to the pertinent places on the papers. "And this company…," he pointed again, "I don't think it even exists. I think you're being taken, sir, for millions and millions of dollars." He stood back and once again looked nervous, shifting back and forth on his feet. "These figures are, of course, just the tip of the iceberg. I have everything here." He pulled a disc from his coat pocket and handed it to Oliver. "That is a far more detailed analysis."

Oliver was very careful not to show any reaction to the pages in front of him. This wasn't another case of someone noticing the missing money Chloe had sunk into kryptonite weapons. Unfortunately, it appeared that this one accountant had been put in charge of several of the myriad accounts used to fund Oliver's "outside" activities. Some projects could easily be hidden as legitimate business expenses, but other things were so obviously not a part of Queen Industries or Luthorcorp business that it wasn't even funny. At the moment, Oliver really wanted to get his hands on the regular accountant he paid a small fortune who was supposed to be handling these accounts. Apparently, a couple of them had slipped out of his hands, and he'd better have a _seriously_ good explanation for putting the Justice League in this potentially dangerous position.

"You figured this all out by yourself?" Oliver knew just how unbelievably complicated the figures were even for just a few of the accounts handled in the conglomerate that was Queen Industries.

"Yes, sir."

"And why didn't you report this to your immediate superior?" he asked casually. "Why bring it directly to me?"

"Sir, I didn't know who to trust." The man looked around as if even now someone might pop out of the stainless-steel surroundings to silence him. "From the looks of this… this is a long-term situation, sir. They've been bleeding millions from the company for years. To cover tracks like that would take more than just one person. It would take…"

"A conspiracy?" Oliver's eyebrows rose, putting just the right amount of derision into his tone. The truth was, it was exactly as the man said. He'd spent quite a lot of money to keep his activities nice and quiet. The only thing this guy didn't know was that no one was stealing from Queen Industries. It was Oliver's money to spend. He just didn't want anyone knowing how he was spending it.

"Sir, I'm not crazy," Gregory said defensively, a trace of anger appearing below the surface. "I've spent a couple of months collecting those facts and figures. Just look at them. You'll see…"

"Ok." Oliver held his hands up in an effort to placate the man. "Give me a few days. I will have my personal team look at these and we'll take it from there. If they determine that you're right, then we'll deal with it accordingly. Until then…" Oliver stood. He came around the desk and, without seeming to do so, turned the man toward the door and began ushering him out. "I need to know that I can trust you to keep quiet about this. This will be very bad for business if what you say is true. And we'll also need to be ahead of them on this. If they're this good at covering their tracks, I don't want them to have a heads-up and try to empty any more funds out and disappear. You understand?"

The accountant nodded heartily. "Of course, Mr. Queen. That's why I brought this directly to you."

"Good man." Oliver clapped him on the shoulder, cementing their buddy-buddy, man-to-man secret pact.

Once he was gone Oliver walked straight back to his desk and picked up the phone. He had calls to make, dummy corporations to close, money to move, and apparently, an overly-astute accountant to have transferred. He would make sure it looked like a promotion for a job well done, and then Oliver would make sure the man never got within two miles of any of the accounts that needed delicate handling.

Oliver sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. He was supposed to be at the charity gala by eight. He hit the button on his intercom. "I need you to call my date and tell her I'm going to be late."

* * *

Oliver heard the door to his office open, followed by the tap of stiletto heels. He looked up, the phone still cradled against his shoulder.

"Oliver?"

The drop-dead gorgeous brunette standing in front of him with her arms crossed, tapping a toe impatiently, managed to put a wealth of information into that one little word. She informed him that she had already been annoyed when he decided to save time by sending the limo to pick her up without him in it, and now, as he looked at his watch, he realized he'd kept her waiting another half hour or so since she'd arrived.

"I'm sorry, Portia. Something came up at the last minute. Let me do one more thing and I'm all yours."

He added a patented I'm-Oliver-Queen-so-you-have-to-forgive-me smile for good measure. In the middle of a marathon of telephone calls, texts, and e-mails, his assistant had appeared with his tux and he'd managed to change into it while continuing to work. The businesswoman who'd demanded a video conference was probably _still_ blushing. It was amazing the problems one little accountant could cause. No doubt, as soon as the gala was over, he would be right back on the phone.

Oliver finished his call while Portia continued to shoot daggers at him, and then stood and came around his desk. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you," he said. "I promise."

"How?" she asked, clearly still annoyed, her pert nose turned up in disdain. "By making another date you cancel at the last minute?"

Oliver just shrugged and grinned impishly. She knew him too well. It didn't matter anyway. He had Chloe now. The only reason Portia was going with him to the gala was because Chloe might be ready to admit that their relationship was more than a series of booty calls, but she wasn't ready to be his arm candy for the paparazzi to plaster all over the tabloids. Since Oliver couldn't go alone to these events, the solution was now standing in front of him. Portia didn't exactly like him, but she appreciated one thing that trumped all his faults; his big, fat wallet. No doubt, she had dreams of bagging the most eligible bachelor in the country, but Oliver was a master at keeping gold-digging women at arm's length.

For just a second he remembered the fury, the near heart-stopping panic, when he'd thought Chloe was one of them. Chloe, _his_ Chloe, had embezzled money while he wasn't looking. Even now, he could feel his heart thudding a little harder in his chest. Thankfully, it had all worked out. He didn't know what he would have done if it had turned out Chloe really was like all the other women in his life who'd tried to use him for his money or prestige.

"Well?" Portia said testily. "Are you ready?"

Oliver's cell phone rang and Portia sighed loudly. He picked his cell phone up from his desk and couldn't help a small smile from appearing at the name that appeared on the screen.

"Hi."

"_Hi. Can you talk_?" Chloe asked. She knew he was supposed to be on a so-called date. She might not like it, but she liked it better than going herself and being paraded like Oliver's newest prize filly.

"Not really," Oliver answered. If Chloe was calling on League business then there was only so much he could say in front of Portia.

"_Ok, just listen then. There's a problem out by the docks. A Luthorcorp ship is offloading several containers and if I'm right we're not going to like what's inside_."

"Have you called the Coast Guard?" Oliver couldn't exactly ask if Aquaman was en route.

"_Yes. He's the one who sent me the alert, but he needs backup. Canary's still in Europe and our Winged friend is incommunicado_."

"How about our IT guy?" Oliver asked.

"_Cyborg is a couple of hours out, but he's on his way_."

"They need me?" he asked almost hopefully. He really wasn't looking forward to an evening of stuffy party guests and a surly woman with designs on him.

"_This is FYI for the moment. I'll contact you if you're needed_."

"Just what every man wants to hear a lady say."

There was a pause as Chloe pulled herself out of her strict Watchtower mode. "_I may call you anyway_," she said more lightly, "_just to make sure Miss Rich and Snooty isn't getting handsy_."

"I reserve that privilege strictly for you," he said, mindful of Portia standing beside him, once again tapping her foot. "It's all that typing. Amazing dexterity."

"_Ollie_," Chloe warned.

"Hey, you started it. I'm just praising one of my very, very skilled workers on an excellent job."

"Oliver," Portia nearly snapped.

"_Better go, Ollie. Your _date's_ getting antsy_."

"You know," he growled, "this wouldn't be necessary if you would just-"

"_Have to go_," Chloe said breezily. "_The Coast Guard's calling_."

The phone disconnected and Oliver just shook his head. He tucked the phone in his breast pocket. "All right, Portia." He offered her his arm. "Time to be fashionably late."

* * *

"Who was that last call you took in your office?" Portia asked.

Oliver turned toward his would-be date, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Subtle as always, Portia."

"Who is she?"

Oliver honestly couldn't remember exactly what he'd said, so he decided to bluff. "What makes you think it was a woman?"

Portia's eyes narrowed. "I know what a man sounds like when he's talking to a woman in front of another woman."

Oliver's smirk grew into a full grin. "I talk to all kinds of women in front of other women," he said, enjoying baiting someone who had made sure his entire night was torture from beginning to end. Or maybe that was just his need to get away from her and back to Chloe.

"That wasn't a phone call with a business associate." Her tone was heading toward shrill, too close to accusing for Oliver's liking. He made a mental note not to ask Portia out again. Covering for Chloe's fear of publicity was one thing, but putting up with a territorial female, especially one who had no right to be, was entirely different.

"Portia," Oliver said straightly, "we have an understanding. You want to be seen on my arm, and I need a pleasant companion for a few hours to keep me from falling asleep at the fortieth function this month where I've had to talk to the exact same people over and over again even though we ran out of things to say about five years ago."

Portia stepped closer and raised her hands, resting them possessively against his chest. Oliver heard the distinct sound of a camera flash and knew he'd just given some photographer his money shot for the evening. "Oliver, you know we mean more to each other than that."

Oliver tried not to growl openly and push her away. Portia didn't know any better and it was really his fault that she was in the deluded position she was. She didn't know he was using her or how important Chloe was to him.

Oliver's cell phone rang, breaking the moment. He pulled it from his breast pocket and punched the button to answer a little harder than necessary. "Queen."

"_Feelin' formal tonight, Ollie_?"

The tension in his shoulders immediately lessened at the sound of Chloe's voice. "Hey."

Portia backed away from him as if she'd been burned. She looked around them, seemingly afraid someone in the crowd around them might notice he was talking to someone he appeared to like better than the woman who had accompanied him to the party.

"_Ollie, the Coast Guard has run into a few problems. He could really use another hand and Victor is still half an hour out_."

Oliver nodded, although he knew Chloe couldn't see it. His mind was already going over plans and strategies, contingency plans, avenues in and out of the area. He'd been down by the docks often enough on patrol to be very familiar with it. "Send what you have. Tell him I'm on my way."

"Leaving?" Portia asked, her tone deceptively light. She was definitely beyond angry, reaching Vesuvius levels. It might not be necessary for him to avoid her in future. From the look on her face, she might never come anywhere near him again.

"I have to go," Oliver said without the requisite apology attached. As long as he was being a jerk, he might as well do a decent job of it, so he added, "You can find a way home, right? Or do you want me to send the limo back for you?"

Portia's nostrils flared in annoyance, but she smiled. "I'll take care of it, Oliver. Don't worry. But you _are_ going to make this up to me."

"I'll have my assistant call you," he said, causing another round of nostril flaring. Oliver gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed toward the elevator, irritated that she wasn't angry enough to give him the boot. Unfortunately, some women were willing to hang on to a billionaire no matter how badly they treated them.

Oliver pulled his phone out and called for the limo to be waiting for him by the time he was downstairs, then he began shuffling through the information Chloe was sending to his phone. After a day of paperwork, meetings, e-mails and calls, he finally had real work to do.

* * *

_More soon…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: For Oliver, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Allrighty then, let's see what kind of trouble we can get up to..._

Chapter Two

* * *

Oliver strolled through the doors into Watchtower's inner sanctum. "Please tell me the coffee is hot and there's an even hotter woman standing next to my mug." Oliver carelessly threw his hi-tech sunglasses onto the desk and looked around, wondering where Chloe was hiding. "Clothing is completely optional."

She appeared from behind a bank of equipment and came toward him, a wide, mischievous smile on her face, eyes twinkling. She really was beautiful, and way too smart for him.

"The coffee's cold, which is what your bed will be if you don't stop making lewd remarks on the comms while we're on a mission. AC was blushing like a sailor."

"Lewd?" Oliver stepped closer, pulling off his gloves. He wanted to be able to touch her without anything hindering the experience. "I don't even know what that means."

"Suggestive," she gave him a mock-frown, ruining it because she was trying not to laugh, "with a side of dirty."

"Hmm… that _does_ sound like me." He reached her and Chloe allowed him to pull her close, so close his nose brushed hers. "What did I say that was lewd?"

"You can't tell me you weren't enjoying talking about access panels and switches far too much."

Oliver smiled, all innocence. "Was there not an access panel for the elevator system?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"And a switch that was just a _bit_ hard to find?"

"Yes."

"And I had to flick the switch at _just_ the right time. Not to mention that reaching it was a very... tight... fit."

She looked heavenward, as if asking for patience. "Yes."

"And are you not the person best equipped to walk me through all sorts of... _mechanical_ issues?" Even he was having trouble not laughing and Chloe too, despite her lovely blush, was close to giving in. He could see it in the purse of her lips, turning to actually biting her lower lip, which had him suddenly thinking of exactly what he wanted to do to that mouth.

Oliver never had been one to deny himself. He leaned into her, closing the last bit of distance between them, kissing her, not relenting until she was breathless and clinging to him.

Oliver pulled back. "Now," he cleared his throat, "what was that about coffee?"

Chloe blinked, taking an extra moment to return from her dazed state. "Tease."

Oliver grinned impishly. "I think that's why we get along so well, isn't it?"

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "I'm re-thinking that at this very minute."

Oliver laughed and shook his head. "Well, while you're re-thinking it, I'm going to shower and change. I promised a certain someone I would take her to breakfast to make up for two-timing her last night."

Chloe was already turning away toward her screens, going back to processing the info they'd gathered at the docks. "It better be one magnificent breakfast, Queen!" she called just as Oliver closed the door behind him.

* * *

Chloe pushed her plate back and patted her stomach in satisfaction. It was one of Oliver's constant concerns that Chloe didn't take care of herself. If he didn't watch her, she would live on nothing but coffee and she'd never sleep again.

He hadn't worried about her welfare before they got together, which really bothered him when he stopped long enough to think. Sure, he'd worried about security and making sure she wasn't killed or kidnapped, but there hadn't been anyone to care if she had a decent meal or the occasional eight hours. Oliver was fairly certain that he had thoughtlessly demanded that she put her own needs last over and over again.

"Good?" he asked as she finished the last of her juice.

"I'm so full I could explode," she answered with a satisfied sigh. "You trying to make sure I'm fat to match the sassy?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure asking for barefoot and pregnant is a no-no these days..."

She shot him a definite _I am woman, hear me roar_ glare. "How very forward-thinking of you."

"That's me." Oliver grinned. "All the best of modern masculinity."

Chloe shook her head, although she was grinning as well. "Humble, too."

"Very." He nodded in agreement. "My humility knows no bounds."

"On that note," she pushed her chair back from the table, "I should get back to work before your _humility_ suffocates everyone else in this restaurant."

Oliver held out a hand to help her rise. "My humility would never do such a thing. It's very well trained."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You only bring it out on special occasions?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, his brow furrowed in mock-concentration. "It's been so long since I've seen it..."

Chloe finally gave in and giggled, which was the whole purpose of his continued banter. He had a self-set goal of making her giggle at least once a day. Most of the time, he failed. Their lives were too dangerous, too serious, with disaster after disaster weighing on them. But there were times, like today, when they had a moment to just... be.

"Come on," he nodded toward the door. "I'll walk you back."

Oliver threw several bills down on the table, then shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from taking Chloe's hand again. Things were better between them, they were closer since the mess with the banshee, and the kidnappings by Checkmate, but there were still limits in their relationship. Wandering around downtown in broad daylight while holding hands wasn't in the cards.

The moment they stepped outside the restaurant Oliver knew something was wrong. Worse, Chloe had been around him long enough that she immediately noticed the difference.

"What is it?"

"Not sure," he murmured, his eyes darting from place to place, trying to zero in on the source of his discomfort. "Could by anything." In their world, anything could truly be _anything_, from a psychotic meteor-infected stalker to a photographer who didn't know when to say when.

Oliver continued to scan the area around them, all the while pushing Chloe back toward the building using his own body to shield hers. He had very purposely chosen a little out of the way spot for their breakfast. Much to Chloe's embarrassment, a picture of them together had made it into one of the celebrity magazines. They'd been drinking coffee in a little sidewalk cafe, going over plans for an upcoming mission no less, but the camera had caught them both in a lighter moment, with Chloe obviously laughing and Oliver wearing a knowing smile from ear to ear. The same day it hit the stands, Chloe had practically thrown him at Portia and ordered him to take her someplace with lots of cameras.

Since then, they'd been a lot more careful, and there was no reason for anyone to have found them now. Paparazzi looked for him outside his apartment building or the offices or any number of nightclubs. They didn't look for him at a greasy spoon well off the beaten path.

Since a wandering photographer seemed unlikely, that only left someone even more dangerous to follow them.

The problem was that he couldn't see anything out of place and he was freaking out his girlfriend, who was pretty hard to freak out given her history. Hazard of the job, he supposed.

"Maybe you're being paranoid," Chloe said, giving voice to what he was already thinking.

"Maybe," he hedged. He hadn't lived as long as he had by ignoring his instincts.

"Do you think we could at least move out of the open, here, Ollie?" Her voice had a slight tremor in it, letting him know just how nervous he was making her, maybe unnecessarily.

Oliver saw the movement a second before he saw the muzzle flash. Heat tore through his side, the force of the shot turning him, knocking him into Chloe who in turn crashed into the building behind them. Concrete exploded in a shower around them as two more shots slammed into the building, frighteningly close to their heads.

Oliver grabbed Chloe and began dragging her along with him, running for cover. She stumbled, but he managed to right her and pull her into the closest alley. She immediately leaned back against the wall, bent over at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

Oliver headed back to the mouth of the alley, and carefully peeked out. The window where he'd seen the muzzle flash was now empty and the shots had stopped as soon as they were out of the person's line of sight.

"I think…" He was breathing hard and Oliver's chest reminded him sharply of his injury. "I think they're gone," he said, looking down at his side. He frowned at the sight of the blood on his shirt. He ripped the hole a bit wider so that he could see what damage had been done. There was a ragged track across his ribs where the bullet had cut a furrow, digging through muscle just below the surface. "Never say I'm a boring date."

Oliver turned back toward Chloe. "You all right?" When there was no answer, he looked up. "Chloe?" As he watched, she began to slide down the wall she was leaning against. "Chloe!"

All at once, he realized what had happened. She'd been directly behind him when the shot was taken. He'd been shielding her as best he could, but the bullet hadn't stopped when it hit him. Oliver sprinted back toward her, sliding in the muck of the alley floor as he came to a halt, catching her just before she fell to the ground.

"Chloe, are you hit?" Oliver fumbled in a nearly blind tunnel-vision sort of way, trying to untie the belt of her jacket and shove the material out of the way. "Where are you hit?"

"Ollie?"

That one word, the uncertainty in it, nearly stopped his heart cold. Chloe never sounded like that. She was his Watchtower, the stronghold he and all the others turned to when they needed strength and guidance.

It took every amount of self-discipline Oliver had not to show any reaction when he got Chloe's jacket open. The bullet had hit him midway on his ribs which meant it had hit higher on Chloe's body, although the trajectory would have been at a downward angle, depending on how much striking him first had changed the bullet's path. Thanks to Vortigen, Oliver knew exactly where and how to hit a target to cause the desired amount of damage and now his brain was telling him everything he wished he didn't know about the harm the shot could have caused. He was certain one of her lungs was damaged. It looked like it had missed her heart, however, it was all of the veins and arteries surrounding her heart that truly worried him.

"S'it bad?" Chloe asked, and Oliver realized she was barely holding onto consciousness.

"Just a scratch," he said blithely, hoping she didn't hear the underlying fear in his voice. "We'll have you fixed up in no time."

Oliver pressed one hand over the wound in her chest to try to slow the bleeding, although there was precious little of it and he knew most of the damage was where he couldn't see it. With his other hand he pulled out his cell phone and immediately dialed Bart, whose phone went straight to voice mail. He tried Clark next with the same result.

Thanks to his second job, Oliver knew the response time in this neighborhood for both the police and ambulances, and neither was good. He kept a car parked near Watchtower just in case. If he got her to it, he could take her to a hospital faster than an ambulance could get to where they were.

Oliver didn't waste any more time making his decision. "Chloe? You stay with me, all right? I'm gonna get you to help."

"'Kay," was all she answered, and her blind trust was a fresh burden that he knew he had to shoulder. This was not one of the times that failure was even close to being an option.

Oliver gathered her up in his arms and lifted. Immediately he felt a stabbing, tearing pain in his injured side and was almost forced to put her back down. Instead, he leaned back against the wall nearly in a crouch using his legs to rest Chloe on. It was either that or drop her. After several seconds to allow the black spots to fade from his vision, he summoned up his strength and stood again, although still leaning back against the alley wall for support. Once he was sure he could move without falling, he straightened completely and pushed away from the wall.

"Ya know," he panted, "I probably shouldn't'a fed you before this happened. That fat and sassy thing is gonna be the death of me."

She mumbled something against his chest that Oliver couldn't catch, certainly not above the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. "Yeah, I know. Not fat. Just sassy."

Chloe suddenly went completely slack in his arms, her head falling to bob back and forth as he moved.

"Chloe, stay with me," Oliver ordered sternly. She was starting to wheeze, and thanks to her damaged lung there was a hint of a gurgle to it.

Oliver rounded the end of the alley, momentarily terrified that he was walking right back out into the open. One more well-aimed shot and he would be down, but there was no sign of the shooter. Resettling his precious burden, he set his eyes on the goal in front of him. He was more than nine blocks from Watchtower and another two from his car.

Oliver ignored the gasp of a woman he passed, not caring whether it was the blood on him or the sight of Chloe that had so disconcerted her. He simply kept going, truly more afraid that his body would give out before he could get to the car than anything else. As he hurried past, he could hear voices close to him, a couple of which sounded like they were on their cell phones calling 911. Oliver knew just how little good that would do. An ambulance was still a good ten minutes from them and each step he took got them closer to his car.

Someone stepped in front of him, and Oliver, acting completely on instinct, lashed out. He wasn't exactly sure, but he may or may not have kicked the guy in the knee to get him out of the way. He figured once they realized who he was there would be a lawsuit pending and a front page spread in the tabloids and he really didn't care.

After that, people seemed to get the idea to stay out of his way. He passed Watchtower and fixed his eyes on the lot where he kept the car parked. He paid a small fortune to keep a very sedate looking Beamer parked there just in case he ever needed a car that wouldn't draw too much attention.

When he got to the lot, he wanted to crow in triumph and he would have if he thought he wouldn't keel over. As it was, he stumbled into the side of the car, fumbling badly as he tried to hold onto Chloe and find the hidden key to open the door. After a few precious seconds wasted, he finally got the door open. Lifting Chloe into the car had him seeing stars, his side screaming in agony as he shifted her inside and strapped her in. Her head lolled to the side, and it spurred him back into action. He blinked back the stars, slammed the door shut and hurried to the driver's side.

Oliver didn't remember much of the drive. It was possible he clipped any number of cars along the way or he may have been driving on the sidewalk for all he cared, but he stopped for absolutely nothing. All that mattered was getting Chloe to help.

When the car screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay, Oliver threw open the door. He stumbled out and had to use the car to keep himself upright as he moved around, already yelling for help. A nurse and an orderly appeared through a set of sliding doors.

"She's been shot," Oliver said breathlessly.

"Sir, are you hurt?" the nurse asked him.

"I'm fine." He held his hands up to try to keep her back and on task. "Please, just take care of her."

"Sir, you're bleeding," she pressed.

"It's not mine! It's hers!" He nearly bellowed the lie. "Just help her!" Finally, that seemed to spur them into motion. The nurse headed for the car along with the orderly, while two more people appeared through the doors with a gurney.

Oliver fumbled his phone back out of his pocket. It took several blinks for him to focus on the screen, but he managed to scroll through the contact list to find Emil. Just when he thought no one was going to answer, his on-staff doctor finally picked up. "I need you at Met Gen," Oliver said without preamble. "Chloe's been shot."

"_I'm already at the hospital_," was the immediate answer, and Oliver could have sobbed in relief that _something_ at least had worked out in their favor.

"Get down to the ER," he demanded. Oliver had nothing left in him to be polite. They had Chloe out of the car and were wheeling her into the building.

One of the orderlies pointed to his car. "Sir, you can't leave your vehicle here."

"Tow it, or move it." Oliver threw the key at him. "I don't care which, but I'm not leaving her." He headed for the door, and followed Chloe's retreating form, ignoring the sputtered exclamations behind him.

Oliver looked down the hall to see Emil hurrying toward them, but the nurse who'd stopped him outside, stopped him once again. "Sir, you'll have to stay in the waiting room."

"But-"

There wasn't any pity or flexibility in her. She was in charge of this domain and she didn't care who he was. "The waiting room is that way," she pointed, her tone saying she would brook no opposition. "We'll do the best we can for her," she added, her tone softening only slightly.

Oliver nodded, abruptly exhausted almost beyond bearing now that his goal had been attained. He managed to stagger in the direction of the waiting room. His vision was graying and he fell into the seat closest to the entrance.

There was a woman sitting across from him. She looked to be about seventy years old. Her hair was silvery white, and she had her cardigan wrapped tightly around her almost protectively. Exhaustion, strain and worry were plain on her face and Oliver wondered vaguely if that was what he looked like.

Suddenly, the woman was bending down in front of him. "Honey, are you all right?"

He blinked, his eyes heavy. "What?"

"Are you all right?"

He was pretty sure he was supposed to answer her, but about that time, the floor came up to meet him.

* * *

_If y'all want another chapter before Christmas, speak now or forever hold your peace..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Thank you for the very kind reviews. Here it is, as promised…_

Chapter Three

* * *

Oliver woke slowly. Between line-of-duty injuries, injuries caused by his own drunken playboy stupidity, and a few garden variety accidents, he'd been drugged enough times to know the feeling, so when he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised that it still felt as if the world were covered in a haze. Hospital, he figured. He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor and felt the uncomfortable sting of the IV attached to his arm.

A quick look around the room told him he was alone. He'd long since given up hoping for someone to be there for him when things went wrong. He'd ended up in the hospital so many times that he'd lost count, but since the day his parents died, no one could have cared less if he got hurt. Sure the bills got paid, but other than that he was on his own.

Except the last time… when he'd been burned… Someone had been there…

Chloe.

Oliver's heart began hammering in his chest. It took all of two seconds to throw the sheet back and pull the leads from his chest. The IV took a little more effort, but it, too, was quickly dispensed with. His head was spinning, but he ignored it as he shifted his legs over the side of the bed. His chest let him know that was a very bad idea and he looked down to see that he was heavily bandaged. He set a hand over the wound protectively, then stood, keeping his other hand on the bed to steady himself.

A nurse ran into the room, no doubt alerted when he pulled the sensors off. "What in the world do you think-"

"Where is she?" Oliver demanded.

The plump, fortyish woman ignored the question. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Mr. Queen. You were badly-"

"_Where is she_?" he asked more firmly.

"Mr. Queen, I will sedate you if I have to."

"And I will buy this hospital and fire you the second the paperwork is signed if you don't tell me where the woman is who came in with me." He used every bit of his no-nonsense CEO tone. He rarely pulled it out, but at times like this it was necessary.

"Mr. Queen," she said very straightly, clearly used to bossy, recalcitrant patients, "you can threaten me all you like, but you won't be any use to her if you hurt yourself."

Oliver immediately deflated, sagging back against the bed. "Is…" he swallowed nervously. "Is she all right?"

"I can have her doctor come in and speak to you."

"_Please_," Oliver said, heading straight from belligerence to pleading.

"Your friend is with her now. I'll tell him you're awake and send him down, all right?" She came toward him, although still a bit warily. "Now let's get you back in bed."

Oliver didn't really have any choice. It was either let her help, or fall on the floor, and as angry as it made him, the nurse was right. He couldn't help Chloe if he was a mess himself.

After a few infuriating minutes of the woman glaring, clucking, and fussing over him, she had the equipment reattached and she left the room, he supposed on her way to Chloe's. If she wasn't then he still had every intention of buying the hospital and firing her. He had half a mind to just rip everything back off and follow her, but doubted it would be a very successful endeavor.

Oliver was just about to drift off again, when the door to his room burst open. He'd been hoping for Bart or Victor or AC, but what he got was Clark Kent, and right behind him, Lois Lane, who was the very last person on earth he wanted to see at the moment.

"How are you, Ol-" Clark started only to be cut off by Hurricane Lois.

"What were you _thinking_, Ollie? Chloe's been shot! How could you let this happen?"

Strident was a mild word for what Lois' voice sounded like at the moment, and Oliver decided it would be a very bad idea to remind her that he'd been shot as well.

"Lois, I didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean for this to happen?" she snapped. "Is that what you're going to tell me? Because that's not gonna fly right now. You're…" she paused, at least having enough control not to scream that he was Green Arrow in the middle of a busy hospital, "_who you are_, and you couldn't protect her?"

"Lois." Clark stepped closer, putting a hand on her arm in an attempt to quell the storm, but if Oliver had to guess, Lois had been building up to this for however long she'd known Chloe was hurt and there would be no stopping until she'd let it out.

"I count on you, Oliver. You have one job and one job only as far as I'm concerned and that's to make sure my cousin doesn't get hurt even though she works for you in your crazy... _business_. You spend a billion dollars on your toys and your stupid _projects_, but you couldn't keep Chloe-"

"I'm sorry," Oliver said quietly.

That seemed to bring her up short. "What?"

"You're right and I'm sorry," he said, especially since she was saying everything that he'd been thinking already. He had set himself up as a protector of the city and he couldn't even protect one slip of a woman who had depended on him to keep her safe. "Is… how is she?"

"She should be ok," Clark offered kindly. "The worst damage was to her lung, but they repaired it and she's doing better. She's still not awake, though."

Oliver nodded, fairly certain that if he tried to say anything, it would come out sounding like a freaked teenage girl.

"Oliver, what happened?" Clark finally asked.

Oliver cleared his throat and shifted on the bed, mostly out of a desire to do _anything_ other than be interrogated by these two. His side protested sharply and he had to hold in a gasp. He closed his eyes and held very still.

"You ok?" Lois asked, somewhat grudgingly if he was any judge.

"I'll be fine," he answered through gritted teeth. "As for what happened…" Oliver shook his head. "I have no clue. We were at this little breakfast joint, down this dumpy little side street. No one should have known we were even there. When we were done, we went outside, and right away, it was like we were being watched. I just had that feeling." Clark nodded in understanding. "I pushed Chloe behind me, and then, Bob's your uncle, someone started taking shots at us. The first one hit me and…" he took a deeper breath, ignoring the well-deserved pain it caused, "and went through and got Chloe. We ran for cover and that's it."

"You didn't see anyone?" Clark pressed.

"I saw a shadow in a window across the street, and a muzzle flash. After I realized Chloe was hurt…" He did his best to ignore another death glare from Lois. "I didn't care about anything other than getting her out of there. We came out of the alley, but whoever took the shot was already gone."

The three were silent, going over the information in their minds. "Anyone in particular you've ticked off lately, Ollie?" Lois asked.

"You know me," he answered with a tight smile. "I'm a friend to one and all."

"As long as they're female," she muttered in return.

Clark, ever the Boy Scout, quickly stepped in before Lois could work herself back up again. "Give me a description of which apartment it was and I'll go see if I can find anything."

"We'll both go," Lois chimed in, giving Clark a quick glare for not including her.

Oliver nodded and quickly described the building and the window where he'd seen the shooter. "Thanks."

"We'll let you know," Clark replied. "Come on, Lois. We should let him rest," he added and began ushering her out.

"I've got my eye on you, Queen," she said as a parting shot.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he responded brightly. As soon as they were gone, however, he sank back onto the bed, lost in weary thought.

Someone had tried to kill him. Most people he came across were either very dumb, meaning they pulled a gun and tried to shoot him point blank, or very wily, people like Tess and her Checkmate buddies, or Lex. They came at him, but in roundabout ways. It was new and different for someone to pay what amounted to a sniper.

Whoever it was, they'd made a fatal mistake, two in fact. They may have meant to kill him, but they hadn't managed to get the job done, worse, they'd hurt Chloe instead. Oliver had a lot of flaws, but allowing someone he cared about to be hurt because of him? That he would not allow to go unpunished.

* * *

_More soon… Oliver will get to see Chloe next chapter. Merry Christmas!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Hope you all had a pleasant weekend. Now, when last we met, Oliver was recuperating in the hospital…_

Chapter Four

* * *

Oliver shifted on the sofa, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably. His bruised ribs and the torn muscles that were slowly knitting back together simply would not let him rest, especially not on the hardest piece of furniture known to man. It was worth it, however, to be close to Chloe. At his insistence, she had been put in one of the hospital's premium suites which had the sofa he was currently stretched out on. Emil may have released Oliver, but he had yet to leave the hospital. He needed to be near her and in truth he wasn't feeling well enough to do more than lie where he was and watch her sleeping form.

Chloe, at least, was doing better. Emil had been secretly giving her minute doses of the experimental drug that Oliver had used to heal himself when he was shot all those years ago. Emil had been tinkering with the formula to lessen the side effects, but he was still giving her far less than Oliver had been using. In such tiny doses, her recovery wouldn't be overnight, but faster than normal, and as long as she didn't continue taking it past when it was necessary, there was no reason that the side effects would become a problem.

Oliver, however, had refused to allow Emil to do the same for him. He'd been given a dose after he was burned, which had prevented him from being permanently scarred, but as a precaution he'd been forced to stay away from other people, including Chloe. He certainly wasn't going to risk another dose so soon after the last one. He knew exactly how he reacted to the drug and he didn't need another round of near psychotic rage to mess things up.

In Chloe's case, she might, at worst, become a little irritable. She was a far more stable, emotionally well-balanced human being than Oliver. He knew that underneath his veneer of cool, confident pseudo-respectability, he was really an angry, often disturbed man who had a tendency to go off the rails, even without the help of a rage inducing drug.

His temper certainly hadn't improved in the past two days. Lois and Clark had come back from the apartment the shooter had used and they'd found absolutely nothing helpful. Members of the press were still making periodic attempts to sneak into Chloe's room, especially since the staff had leaked that Oliver had yet to leave it. Patient privacy had apparently gone out the window as soon as his name had popped up. At least they didn't have Chloe's name yet, which was the only good news he had. The guy he'd kneecapped had already filed suit and Oliver had instructed his lawyers to settle as well as to pay anyone who'd used their cell phone to take pictures of him as he carried Chloe to the car. At last count, they'd already paid off eleven people to keep the photos out of the press and off the internet.

Oliver's eyes once again roamed over Chloe's motionless form. The chest tube was gone and she was once again completely breathing on her own, but she had yet to wake up. He wasn't sure what he would say when she did. If he thought he'd been scared out of his life when Checkmate kidnapped her, then this… It was hard for him to even pretend that their relationship wasn't something far deeper when the thought of how close he'd come to losing her was almost paralyzing.

But at the moment, she was safe, and he still had a little while to come up with a way to apologize appropriately, or more correctly to beg her forgiveness for nearly getting her killed.

* * *

Oliver dozed lazily, his tumbling thoughts never allowing him to sleep for long. His eyes popped open, however, when the door to the room opened very quickly and was pushed shut just as fast. He was relieved when he saw it was one of Chloe's normal nurses and not a reporter trying to sneak in, although she wasn't acting normally. Her movements were nervous, almost furtive. Usually, the nurses just barged in not caring whether they woke their patient or not. They just did their job and left. This one, however, and Oliver couldn't quite remember her name, looked… twitchy.

Oliver watched as the woman, average height, late twenties maybe, dark hair pulled back in a severe pony tail, stepped toward the bed, but stopped abruptly. She then backed up against the wall and simply stood there for several seconds, her expression troubled, her eyes glued to Chloe.

All of Oliver's alarms were going off and he tensed his muscles, preparing to move. After another moment, he saw her reach into her pocket and pull out a syringe. The nurse brought her other hand up to remove the cap from the needle and Oliver saw that it was trembling. Still she didn't move, nearly plastered to the wall. Finally, as if coming to some sort of resolve, she pushed away from it and marched toward the bed. She grabbed Chloe's IV line and held the syringe to the port.

Without another thought, Oliver was across the room, knocking the syringe out of her hand and slamming the woman back into the wall. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

The woman's terrified face suddenly crumpled and she began to sob. "Please. Please," she said through her tears, pushing against him. "I have to do this."

"Do what?" Oliver demanded. He had her pinned with his forearm across her upper chest pressing her into the wall and he felt no pity as he put his full weight into it. The nurse had been trying to kill Chloe, of that he had no doubt.

"Please," she sobbed, "they took her. They _took_ her. _Please_!"

All of a sudden she was a tigress, shoving him back with strength he never would have guessed she possessed. Nevertheless, she was no match for a man who'd been grappling with crazed psychotic, super-powered killers for the past several years. It took one flick of his wrist and she was down on the ground with his knee pressed into her back, her arm twisted up behind her. She was gasping and sobbing, still talking, but it was now completely incoherent.

"All right," Oliver said calmly, his injured side throbbing after the unexpected workout. "Now, I'm going to let you up and you're going to tell me what's going on, ok?"

The nurse nodded and Oliver warily eased her arm back down where she could use it to rise from the floor. When she didn't immediately begin to fight him again, he released her and rose. His side once again protested and he lifted his shirt to see that his bandages were showing pink.

"Chloe's gonna kill me," he muttered under his breath. The thought made his chest suddenly throb although not from any physical pain. His eyes traveled back to the bed where she was lying. He should be so lucky to hear Chloe give him a hard time for getting hurt.

Oliver ignored his side and helped the distraught nurse to her feet. He led her toward the sofa and more importantly away from Chloe. The woman slumped onto the couch and put her head in her hands, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Hey," Oliver said gently as he crouched in front of her. He tipped her face back up with a finger beneath her chin, then took one of her shaking hands. "Angela," he read from her hospital ID, "who did they take? Tell me what's going on."

"My daughter," she whispered, abject fear and desperation written on her features. "They took my little girl."

"Who did?" he asked. She shook her head and Oliver gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Angela, you know who I am. I have serious resources. I can make this right, but you have to tell me what you know."

"That's just it." She began to weep in earnest. "I don't know! He sent me a picture of her and told me that I had to… that I had to ki…" She broke off, unable to even say the word. "He told me to hurt Miss Sullivan, or I'd never see my baby again." Her eyes suddenly focused on him and she reached out with her free hand, latching onto his shirt. "Please. He'll kill her. She's only three," she sobbed. "She must be so scared."

"Angela," Oliver said softly, "I will get your little girl. I promise you. Just tell me what you were supposed to do."

"I had until a certain time to… do it. Once it was verified, he would call to tell me where to find my daughter."

"He called your cell?" he asked.

"Yes." She frowned, confused. "What difference does that make?"

"Ok." Oliver stood. He began to pace back and forth, thinking furiously. Quickly, he pulled out his cell phone. It was against hospital policy, but then again so was trying to off their patients. "Give me your number," he ordered and punched it in on his own, setting Watchtower to work. While that was processing, he quickly dialed his publicist.

"_Mr. Queen_?"

Oliver's publicist was a very steady, sophisticated woman who was almost impossible to ruffle. She'd been with him through every idiotic public scandal of the past several years and never once told him he was a screwed-up mess who made her life difficult. For that she was paid an unconscionable amount.

"Deidra, I need you to make a statement to the press."

"_Yes_?" He could tell she had her pen poised to take notes.

"Tell them that the employee who was shot in the attempt on my life has died. We are not releasing the name out of respect for the family. I have already left the country to recuperate abroad. We would appreciate that our privacy be respected at this time. The investigation is in the hands of the Metropolis police. It's a great loss for Queen Industries, etc, etc." He made a _whatever_ gesture with his hand although the woman on the phone couldn't see it. She had the gist and would embellish as needed. It was what he paid her for.

"_When do you want this given to the press_?"

Oliver looked at the woman now curled up on the couch with her knees drawn up to her chest. "Now would be good."

"_I'll have it on air in just a moment. I have several reporters outside my office now waiting for a statement_."

"Good. Thanks." Oliver disconnected and walked toward the nurse. "You should get your phone out," he said. "You'll be getting that call in a few minutes. You pretend you took care of your end of the deal and I'll take care of the rest." Oliver had a moment of desperately wishing that Chloe was awake. He knew he could get this done. After all, he'd been hacking computers long before Chloe ever made an appearance in his life, but he also knew that Chloe was a lot better and a lot faster than he was. Nevertheless, he was on his own if he wanted to make sure that Chloe stayed safe.

Oliver set to work on his phone. Watchtower had run down the original call the kidnapper had made, but had come up with nothing. It was a pre-paid phone with no personal information attached, paid for in cash, and it was turned off at the moment, so there was no signal for him to ping to find a current location. Since that was a bust, he had to settle for trapping the kidnapper with the next call, if there was one. It took him several minutes, but he had everything in place, ready to track down the info. All he needed was for the bad guy to call.

In the meantime, Oliver found the remote and turned on the TV. He then once again tried to make contact with Clark or any of the other JL members. Unfortunately, he knew they were currently tied up on a little problem in South America, and as expected he got no answer to his calls.

Just as he was hanging up, the TV channel he was watching broke into the soap opera with breaking news. The camera showed Deidra stepping outside of her office, followed by her making a simple statement parroting what Oliver had told her, although phrasing it more carefully, and adding a few publicist-type flourishes.

Now came the tricky part. Whoever had taken the child could very easily just kill her and have done with it. However, if the person really had no intention of the hurting the kid, then they should be hearing from them soon.

Just when Oliver was beginning to think that it was a lost cause and the child was most likely dead, the cell phone rang. The nurse jumped, fumbling to take the call. While she spoke to whoever was on the other line, Oliver used Watchtower to trace it. Now that the phone was on, it was only a matter of seconds before he had an answer.

The nurse disconnected and looked up as Oliver stood. "He told me to come to the corner of 12th and Meridian."

"Stay here," Oliver ordered. "I'll get her back for you."

"But-"

"No," he said firmly. "Stay here. You stay with Chloe. You make sure no one else goes near her until I get back. Promise me."

She nodded and Oliver ran for the door.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, thanks to a stash he kept near the hospital, Oliver was in his Green Arrow gear and on his way to where Watchtower was still tracking the kidnapper's phone.

Oliver had rarely been this angry. He'd assumed the gunman was aiming for him, which just showed what a clueless, self-absorbed, arrogant ass he was. Someone was trying to kill Chloe. _His_ Chloe. _He_ was the one who just so happened to get in the way.

The phone he was tracking hadn't moved since it made the call. It was coming from the area of a huge empty warehouse near where he'd told Nurse Angela to pick up her little girl. Oliver vaulted onto the roof from the building next door. He grunted through the pain as he rolled to his feet and promised himself that when this was over he and Chloe were going to take a nice, long vacation on a private island in the middle of nowhere.

Oliver broke open the lock on the emergency exit door to the roof and crept down the stairs. The guy wasn't even trying to hide. He was sitting on an old crate near one of the oversized doors to the warehouse. A little dark-haired girl was huddled up against the door. She was in a plaid dress that she had tucked over her legs and she was shivering from the cold. She'd pulled her little pink cardigan tightly around her, her tiny shoulders up around her ears she was so anxious.

Taking down the kidnapper was painfully easy. A Taser arrow to the shoulder and the man was face down twitching on the ground. The little girl screamed and stood to run. Oliver quickly intercepted her and scooped her up in his arms. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he soothed the desperate, flailing child. He quickly took off his sunglasses and turned off the voice modulator. "It's ok. Your mom sent me."

Immediately, the child stopped struggling in his arms and turned her tear-stained face up toward him. "Mommy?"

"Yup." Oliver smiled his most open smile, the one that promised he was absolutely trustworthy. It worked on the big girls, even when they knew he was probably up to no good. He could only hope little ones were as susceptible. "Your mommy's at work. She knew you weren't happy here and asked me to come get you."

"We can go see her?" she asked.

He brushed a hand over her wispy shoulder-length hair, smoothing it back into place. "What's your name, honey?"

"Tammy."

"Ok, Tammy. I'm Ollie and I promise I'm going to take you straight to your mommy, but I have to talk to the man over there first. Can you wait for me?"

The little girl looked very uncertain, and glanced around the warehouse nervously. She rubbed her hand underneath her runny nose, then set it right back against his chest. Oliver wondered absently if there was something special required to get little-girl snot out of leather.

"Tammy, I promise. If you can be brave for just a few more minutes, we'll go straight to your mommy, ok?"

"Ok," she finally answered, hardly louder than a mouse.

Oliver kissed her on the forehead. "Good girl." He quickly looked around and spied what looked like an old office. "Let's go over here, all right?" He took her inside the office and set her down on a chair after dusting it off. He crouched down in front of her. "Is this ok?"

The little girl once again rubbed her pudgy fingers under her nose, but she nodded. "I want my mommy," she whispered.

"Soon, sweetie," he promised. "I'll be fast, ok?"

Not wanting to wait any longer, Oliver quickly left the old office and closed the door behind him. He walked straight back to the man who was still face down on the floor. The arrow had run out of punch, but it took a little while to get over a mini-electrocution. Oliver put his glasses back on and switched on the voice modulator.

"All right," he said as he kicked the man to roll him over onto his back. Oliver put his boot in the middle of the man's chest and pressed down, leaning over him so that even though the guy couldn't really move he would get an eyeful of one very, _very_ pissed off Green Arrow. "We need to have a chat."

* * *

_More soon…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Thank you so much for the kind encouragement. So, last chapter, Oliver had met up with a hitman and a little girl..._

Chapter Five

* * *

Oliver walked down the hospital hallway drawing a variety of curious stares. He was back in his street clothes, but he was carrying Tammy, held close against his chest, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder. That, when tied to the news reports of Chloe's death, which they all knew to be a lie, made him even more interesting than he had been before.

On the outside, Oliver was cool as a cucumber. He had the little girl safe and sound. With her chest pressed to his, he could feel her heart beating against his own, reassuring him that even if he hadn't been able to keep Chloe from harm, he had at least saved a child. Keeping her calm and unaware of the danger she had been in required that he remain completely calm himself.

Inside, however, he was so furious he could barely think straight. He was a seething cauldron of rage that demanded vengeance for what had happened, both to Chloe and to an innocent family who had been drawn into his world. He was especially furious now that he knew what had caused the situation.

_Oliver jammed his heel down into the hitman's breastbone. "Who sent you?"_

"_Screw you, buddy. I got nothin' to say."_

"_Really?" Oliver pulled out his cell phone and used the built-in camera to snap a picture of the man's butt-ugly bulldog face. Within seconds, Watchtower had used Chloe's facial recognition software to give him a copy of the thug's driver's license and a rap sheet. "So… Doug 'Morty' Mortimer."_

_At the sound of his name, the thug began to struggle, but Oliver cocked his crossbow, pointing it straight at the guy's nose and he settled right back down._

"_You live at 1781 Blossom Rd, apartment 12." Oliver chuckled, the voice modulator making it a little creepier than it would have been otherwise. "Blossom? Really. Kinda cutesy for such a tough guy."_

"_You gonna kill me or just talk me to death," the man snarled._

"_Pretty sure I'm the one callin' the shots here, Doug. So let's start with why you tried to kill Oliver Queen."_

"_That prissy little rich guy?"_

"_That prissy little rich guy will pay me a fortune to skin you alive," Oliver growled._

"_Whatever. I still got nothing to say to you."_

_Oliver looked at the driver's license again. "Says here you live in Gotham."_

"_So what," he spat._

"_So a guy like me? I got friends in the same line of work."_

"_What work? Freaks on parade?"_

_Oliver gave him a definite smirk. "Let's just say I have a buddy on speed dial who doesn't like guys like you working in his town. Maybe you've heard of him… Bat… something or other."_

_For the first time, the hitman looked genuinely afraid. "You wouldn't."_

"_Let's see… there's a punk hitman in my town kidnapping little girls and shooting CEO's. I can either get the information I need and warn him never to come back, or," Oliver drug the word out, "he can keep stonewalling and I give a head's up to my winged friend who will ensure said hitman never hurts anyone again." Oliver didn't bother to mention that Batman was going to get a head's up either way. He needed to know about this guy. Oliver, however, was more interested in who'd paid the bill. He held up his cell phone. "Now which number was he on my speed dial? Was he one or two… I can never remember."_

"_Ok!" the man shouted. "Ok. My job's hard enough without you telling that freak about me."_

"_My heart bleeds for you," Oliver replied snidely. "Now who paid you to shoot Oliver Queen?"_

"_Nobody."_

_Oliver had to grit his teeth. That was exactly what he was afraid of. "Who paid you to shoot Chloe Sullivan?"_

_That was apparently the right question and the hitman paused, visibly rethinking whether he wanted to spill his guts._

"_You know what? I don't actually have to turn you over to Batman." Oliver moved his crossbow so that it was aimed directly at the man's heart. "I bet I've got more experience than you at dumping bodies." _

"_I don't know, ok!" the hitman snapped._

"_You don't know?"_

"_I never saw 'em, I never got a name, and the voice was disguised. They paid me half up front and I get the rest when the job's done."_

"_Well," Oliver said, his voice full of menace, "that's just not good enough."_

Oliver continued down the hospital hallway toward Chloe's room, ignoring all of the open stares. He was more concerned about the exhausted little girl in his arms and getting her back to her mother. Oliver knew exactly what it was like to be abruptly pulled away from a parent without actually understanding why or what had happened.

Once he was done with the hitman, Oliver had hurried back to the old office, already pulling his hood and sunglasses back off so he wouldn't scare the child. Tammy had been sitting exactly where he'd left her, tears streaming down her face, clearly terrified.

_Oliver knelt in front of the little girl, who drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, hiding her face. She was such a tiny little thing, and it amazed him that anyone had been able to even contemplate harming such an innocent._

"_Tammy?" The little girl shook her head, still hiding her face, refusing to speak to him. "Tammy, it's ok."_

"_I want my mommy," she said pitifully._

"_Well, it's a good thing I'm here then, because we're gonna go see her right now."_

_She poked her head up, her eyes just visible over her knobby little knees. "Promise?"_

_Oliver gave her a wide, reassuring smile. "I told you your mommy sent me to get you, didn't I?" He waited for her to nod. "Good. You ready to go?" She nodded again, and then surprised him by holding her arms out, expecting to be picked up. Oliver, playboy extraordinaire, wasn't exactly experienced with this sort of thing. Tammy waggled her fingers at him impatiently and he had no choice but to comply. Apparently, damsels in distress came in all ages and sizes._

_Oliver's return to the hospital was far slower and more careful than his frantic, headlong rush to get to the warehouse. He'd put his hood back up and his glasses on, but he was carrying precious cargo that could not be jostled. As he moved along, he kept up a running commentary, trying to keep the child at ease. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly think of anything else to say that was appropriate for a little girl's ears, her head began to bob, exhaustion winning out after the day's events. He gently pressed her head to his shoulder and in moments she was asleep. He had to put her down long enough to change out of his Green Arrow gear back into his street clothes, but she barely even roused when he picked her back up to carry her into the hospital._

Oliver opened the door to Chloe's hospital room and went in. Tammy's mother was pacing back and forth, but she stopped abruptly and turned red-rimmed eyes toward him. Her hand flew to cover her mouth and she let out a sob that tore at Oliver's hardened heart.

"Tammy?" Oliver pulled the child away from his shoulder and she frowned even in her sleep. "Honey, your mommy's here. Don't you want to see her?"

"Mommy?" The little girl rubbed at her eyes, then what Oliver had said finally dawned on her and she began twisting in his arms. Oliver's side had been letting him know just how much it didn't appreciate the exercise it was getting, especially while carrying Tammy back, and the now gyrating three year old instantly made it worse. "Mommy!"

The nurse was in front of him in a heartbeat pulling her daughter into her arms. She squeezed the little girl within an inch of her life, crying and laughing at the same time.

"Baby?" Angela said, holding the child slightly away from her so she could see her. "Baby, are you all right?"

"She's fine," Oliver assured her.

Tammy nodded and Oliver saw that the woman didn't trust his word or the little girl's. She looked like she wanted to strip the kid and see for herself that there wasn't a single bruise or mark on her child. Oliver had a feeling that if she found one, there would be hell to pay.

"Did… did anyone hurt you?" she asked, scared of the answer.

"Ollie made that other man go away," she whispered seriously. "I didn't like him."

"Ollie?" the woman asked, surprised.

Oliver gave the woman a wave and a sheepish grin. "Ollie" wasn't exactly the imposing, powerful CEO persona he'd been presenting for the past several days at the hospital. Mostly he'd been growling and scaring the nurses and threatening the doctors if they didn't have Chloe fixed up and soon.

"This man…" Angela started.

"He'll never bother you or your daughter again," Oliver stated solemnly.

"But why? Why did he do this?"

"_Tell me something," Oliver asked the hitman. "Why didn't you just kill the kid?"_

_The man's face turned up in a derisive snarl. "I woulda if I had my way, but I got another call and they were pissed that I clipped the Queen guy. They said if I hurt the kid I don't get my money."_

"_A real humanitarian," Oliver scoffed._

"_Whatever. I got a job to do like everybody else."_

"_So the news says Miss Sullivan is dead. You are going to call the person who paid you and arrange to get your money." After punching several buttons to set up what he needed, Oliver held out his cell phone. It would automatically compare the voice pattern of the caller to Watchtower's database, cross-reference the location, if possible find the credit card that had paid for the phone, etc. In short, if all went well, it would take him only a few seconds to know who he was after._

_The hitman snatched the phone from Oliver, who was still pointing his crossbow at the guy's chest. "I do this you let me go?" he asked._

"_The longer you stall, the twitchier my trigger finger gets," Oliver warned. "And this little baby has a hair trigger."_

_Suddenly motivated, the man punched the number into the phone and held it to his ear. After several rings, someone must have picked up. "It's done. I want my money." There was a pause while the person on the other end answered. "Yeah, the kid's turned over and the broad's dead."_

_The callous statement almost had Oliver pulling the trigger anyway. Chloe was his whole world and this piece of trash could have taken her from him without a second thought._

"_I want the money in my account now," Doug ordered. Whatever he heard must have been acceptable, because he nodded. "Fine."_

_The hitman disconnected and threw the phone back at Oliver who caught it one handed right before it smashed into his nose. "That wasn't very nice," Oliver said, a smirk curling his mouth on one side. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to hurt me."_

"_Whatever," the man snarled. "Why don't you just prance your little green ass outta here and we'll both get on with our lives."_

"_One, my ass is in top condition. Two," Oliver brought his boot down on the guy's face with a satisfying crunch, "try not to piss off the guy who's got you dead to rights, moron." He shook his head, looking at the bloodied, unconscious hitman. "Bad guys. No sense of self preservation."_

_Oliver's cell phone beeped. He looked at the screen and saw that Watchtower had a location on the person who'd called the hitman, although the system was still working on a name. It had, however, compensated for the voice distortion the person had used, so he could hear the caller's real voice._

_Oliver held the phone to his ear. Five seconds later, the blood drained from his face and he felt suddenly lightheaded with shock. He recognized the voice. All of this pain and suffering, all for something so _petty_. All because of him._

"Why did he do this?" the nurse asked again. "I don't understand."

Oliver's gaze traveled to the bed where Chloe was still resting peacefully. "You just got caught in the line of fire," he murmured.

The nurse followed his line of sight. "I'm so sorry," she said, fresh tears falling. "I almost… I could have…" She looked at Chloe out of the corner of her eye, clearly ashamed at what she'd almost done to protect her family. "And even after what I did you still saved my little girl."

Oliver waved her words away. Although it made his blood run cold how close she'd come to hurting Chloe again, he couldn't hold it against the woman. Oliver knew all about the desperate need to protect loved ones and the stupid decisions that could result.

"Mommy, I wanna go home," Tammy said tiredly. Her head was already leaning against her mother's shoulder and Oliver knew she was fading fast. In truth, he envied her. He wished he too could curl up and sleep until his troubles went away.

"We're going home right now, baby." Angela hugged the girl tightly again. "Right now." The nurse hurried forward and stood on her toes to kiss Oliver's cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Queen."

"My pleasure," he responded automatically before leaning down and placing a light kiss on Tammy's forehead.

The child's eyelids fluttered back open. "Bye bye, Ollie."

Angela hurried out the door, no doubt anxious to be well away from the scene of the crime. Oliver couldn't really blame her. He was feeling guilty enough himself about what had happened. A little girl had been placed in harm's way because of _him_. She was like too many others who had stepped into his orbit and suffered because of it. Not unlike the other lady in his life, now currently residing in a hospital bed.

"That was so adorable I think I might just spontaneously combust."

Oliver's head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "Chloe?"

"I mean big, bad, corporate titan, Oliver Queen… jaded, world-weary playboy, Oliver Queen, putty in the chubby little hands of a three year old girl."

Oliver was at Chloe's side in an instant. He was kissing her the next, carefully, gently. Finally, he pulled back, overjoyed to see her beautiful eyes finally open again.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice rusty from disuse.

Oliver reached to the bedside and poured water from a waiting pitcher into a cup with a straw which he held for Chloe to drink from. "That's all I get?" he asked. "You take another ten years off my life and that's it? General mockery and a 'hey, you'?"

She smiled, a tired, pale version of her normal, exuberant grin. "If you get to be all mushy with a little girl, then I get to be cynical and aloof."

Oliver noticed she was having to work a little harder than normal to speak. The drug had sped up the healing process, but the damage to her lung was still evident.

"You ok?" he asked, no longer in the mood for light banter.

"Yes. You?"

"Just a scratch."

"Don't believe you," she said sleepily.

"Well, I'm the one who's mobile, so what does that tell you?"

"Tells me you're too stupid or too proud to sit still." Her eyelids fluttered closed. "Probably badgered poor Emil into turning you loose, too."

Oliver smiled and placed a whisper of a kiss on each closed eyelid. "Probably," he admitted. "Now as happy as I am to see you awake, you should probably go back to sleep."

"'Kay," she murmured, already halfway there.

Oliver kissed her lips one last time. He had somewhere he needed to be.

* * *

_More soon... how quickly depending on motivation..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Let's see… Oliver was a wee bit ticked at the end of last chapter and was off to confront the person who paid the hitman… Now, on we go!_

Chapter Six

* * *

Oliver stalked down the street, trying to keep his temper in check. It wasn't working well, but he still had to try. He'd considered having his driver take him, but he knew it would take time for him to calm down. Unfortunately, the reverse was happening. The longer he walked, the angrier he was getting.

Abruptly, Oliver stopped in his tracks. He had that tingling sensation between his shoulder blades, that itch he couldn't quite scratch that said he was being watched. He ducked into a doorway that offered him some cover and carefully scanned the street around him. He didn't think there would be a second hitman, especially not one aiming for _him_, but he couldn't be too careful.

Oliver waited for several minutes, and finally the sensation seemed to pass. Maybe he was being paranoid. Or maybe he was going nuts. It was hard to tell at times. In any case, he had somewhere to be.

Oliver stepped back out onto the sidewalk and resumed marching. His brain was telling him he couldn't kill anyone, but his heart… his heart was ready to commit murder. When he'd left the bomb for Lex it had been a pre-meditated, cold blooded decision meant to save them all from a monster bent on ending them. This, however, was completely different. There was nothing cold blooded about this. This was a furious, spur of the moment, rage-induced decision to rip a person limb from limb with his bare hands and then dance on their grave.

Getting Tammy back to her mother had momentarily kept the homicidal thoughts at bay, but now that he knew exactly who had paid for Chloe's shooting as well as the kidnapping of a little girl to get the job finished, every bit of his completely pissed-off being was centered on death and destruction.

Oliver reached the building, an expensive high-rise apartment complex. He stopped momentarily and tried to center himself. He closed his eyes and purposely slowed his breathing, using every calming technique he knew and, thanks to his many yoga instructors and his years of martial arts training, he knew quite a few. He blocked out the noise of the city around him and focused on clearing his thoughts. This was a job, just like any other job. Someone had hurt a young woman he just so happened to know. He was going to do something about it, just like he'd handled a hundred other cries for help.

Someone grasped his arm and Oliver's eyes snapped open. He reacted instinctively and grasped the hand, reflexively twisting so that by the time his eyes had focused on his attacker, the man was turned the other way, bent over at the waist, a brutal torque on his arm, his hand twisted painfully at the wrist.

"Sir?" the man gasped.

Oliver immediately released the uniformed doorman who backed away rubbing his wrist. "Sorry, Max," he quickly apologized. "I didn't know it was you."

"Quite all right, Mr. Queen," the man answered formally, no doubt used to putting up with the ways of the rich and crazy. "It was my fault for surprising you. I… " He paused nervously, still keeping his hands up in the _I'm unarmed_ position. "I heard about the… incident a few days ago."

_Incident_. Very polite way of saying assassination attempt. Oliver quickly nodded. "Yeah. Still a little unsettled," he said, latching onto the excuse rather than admit he was so homicidally angry right then he was lashing out at anything that even remotely resembled a threat.

"Sir, are you sure you're all right?" The doorman dropped his hands and took a step closer.

Oliver realized the man was staring at his side and he looked down. Oliver swore and pulled his jacket closed. He was bleeding through the bandage and it was beginning to seep through his light colored t-shirt. He was pretty sure he'd popped a couple of stitches doing a somersault onto the warehouse where Tammy was being kept. At this stage of the game, however, it couldn't really be helped.

"I'm fine, Max. But are you sure your wrist is ok?" Oliver hadn't been pulling his punches when he grabbed the doorman. Max wasn't a young guy anymore and Oliver could have easily broken his wrist. The man shook his head, still staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Well, you let me know if you need anything," Oliver offered. His lawyers would kill him if he managed to get himself into another lawsuit for accidentally harming a civilian because of his own psycho reflexes.

Max opened the door to the building and allowed Oliver to walk through. Once inside, he gave a mock-salute to the concierge/security guy behind the desk to one side of the foyer. As soon as the man recognized him, he waved Oliver past.

Oliver punched the elevator call button with more force than was strictly necessary. Once inside, he paced like a caged animal, all the while staring at the numbers as they rose closer and closer to his destination. He'd been in the building dozens of times, and never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that of all the places, of all the dangers that they faced, criminal, supernatural, meteor rock induced or otherwise, that _this_ was where near disaster would come from.

The elevator dinged sedately and the door opened in a barely audible glide. This was one of the most expensive apartment buildings in all of Metropolis and it showed, but instead of the opulence of the plush carpets and the elegant furnishings, all Oliver could see was a wolf hiding in sheep's clothing.

Oliver stalked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door. He once again paused to compose himself. This was war and he couldn't go off half-cocked.

Finally, when he was as ready as he was going to be, he knocked on the door. The building's soundproofing was second to none and he didn't hear a thing as someone came to the door, his only hint was the winking of the light coming through the peephole as someone checked to see who he was. Barely a moment later, the door burst open.

"Oliver!" Portia practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm so surprised! Are you all right? I heard what happened. They wouldn't let me in to see you at the hospital even though I told them who I was. They said you hadn't put me on the list of accepted visitors."

Oliver was exceptionally grateful for that right now or Chloe would no doubt be dead. His medical files had a standard list of people allowed to see him whenever he got hurt and Portia was such a non-entity in his mind he'd never have even considered allowing her in.

"I was so worried," the woman continued, "and those stupid people wouldn't tell me anything."

Oliver carefully pried her hands away and pushed her back. "I'm fine, Portia."

"But you were shot." Her eyes widened as her gaze fell to his side, blood once again visible because of her latching on like a leech and setting his jacket askew. "You're bleeding! Come inside." Portia ushered him in through the door and pushed it closed. "Did something else happen? Do you need an ambulance?"

Oliver held his hands up to stop her. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Portia?"

"What do you mean?" Her voice had taken on that hint of a strident tone that always grated on his nerves.

"We both know you don't actually like me all that much," Oliver said plainly.

To her credit, she really did her best to look affronted. "Of course, I do, Oliver. You know how important you are to me."

"Ah," Oliver drew the word out, "but that's not really the same thing is it?"

"I don't understand." At this point, Portia was beginning to shift back and forth on her feet nervously, this conversation obviously not going how she'd thought it would.

"Oh, you understand just fine. I may be important to you, or my wallet might be, but you don't really _like_ me, do you?"

"You know you mean more to me than money," she tried again.

Oliver cocked his head to one side. "How much more?" he asked.

"What?"

"Just how much do I mean to you? What are you willing to do to keep me?"

Portia paled visibly. "What?" she said again.

"Are you willing to hire someone to shoot the competition?" he said, his tone deceptively light. "When that doesn't work are you willing to have a little girl kidnapped to ensure the job will get done?"

"Oliver, what are you talking about?" she said, her voice getting higher and higher with tension.

"I heard you."

"I don't-"

"I _heard_ you," he bit out. "I have a recording of your last conversation with the man you hired. It's amazing what modern technology can do. Disguising your voice just isn't really enough these days."

A flush began to creep upward from the base of the woman's neck, covering her beautiful face in a blotchy red pattern. Her hands were fists at her sides, and if Oliver didn't know better he'd say she was ready to scratch his eyes out.

"Why, Portia?"

"I had to do something, didn't I?" Her voice had lost any hint of supplication or confusion. He'd known underneath her pretty exterior was a hard-hearted woman. He just hadn't realized how far she would go. "I saw that picture of you in the magazine with that girl. I let it go because you asked me out again, almost the same night, but then I heard you on the phone with her. I knew then it was serious and if I was going to hold onto you, she had to go."

"Are you kidding me?" Oliver snapped. "You tried to kill her because you thought you had a chance with me? What, I'm the only billionaire around who meets your demanding standards?"

Portia's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'tried'?"

"I mean she's not dead." Oliver reminded himself to remain calm. Chloe was fine. "And guess what? You _never_ had a chance with me. You were camouflage, sweetheart, just the pretty thing on my arm to keep the paparazzi away from the person I really care about."

"But we… you…" Portia looked genuinely appalled that _she_ had been the one being used.

Oliver cocked his head to one side in disbelief at her nonchalant attitude toward her homicidal behavior. "Accident or not, you had me _shot_, Portia. Not really the best way to endear yourself to the boyfriend."

Her expression changed from appalled to mutinous then, and Oliver had the impression it was the hitman she most wanted to kill for messing up her plans. If Doug was smart, he'd never come near her or he'd probably get a lot more than a broken nose for his trouble. "Oliver, he wasn't supposed-"

"There are a lot of stupid rich men out there, Portia. Why didn't you just go find another one?"

Portia smiled at him, trying for coy, which was enough to turn Oliver's stomach. "Why settle for a half-deaf, Viagra-popping, seventy year old when there's better to be had? You really are one of a kind, Ollie."

The rage that had been simmering just beneath the surface suddenly boiled over. Exactly three women had earned the right to call him Ollie. His mother was dead, Lois was Lois, and Chloe had every right to use a pet name. Portia did not.

Before he knew it was happening Oliver had her backed up against the wall, nose to nose, the expression on his face letting her know the very real danger she was in. His hands were flat against the wall on either side of her, caging her in, expressly for the reason that as long as he kept his hands there, they weren't wrapped around her pretty little neck.

"Portia, you tried to murder the person I care about most in this world," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper, everything he had going into keeping his barely contained rage in check. "You kidnapped a child, and tried to force an innocent woman to do your dirty work for you. That really, _really_ pisses me off."

Portia stared up at him, nearly cross-eyed he was so close. "I- I d-didn't-" Her stuttering came to an abrupt halt when Oliver slammed one of his hands against the wall close enough to her head that it ruffled her too perfect hair.

"You didn't what?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "You didn't mean to kill me? Just her?"

She nodded and her nose bumped his, making her press back against the wall, desperate to get away from him.

"Problem, Portia?" Oliver whispered. "What? You don't like being blindsided? You don't like being the one in danger?"

"Please," she managed to squeak out.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he asked, menace in every syllable. "Maybe you thought I only got where I am today because of Mommy and Daddy. Oh no, I had to be smarter and faster, more ruthless than every single one of the fat-cats who'd been running my company all those years I was a minor to take it back. Did you _really think_ that a man in my position wouldn't look into every nook and cranny when he was threatened? Or did you think I was just a dumb rich kid who was only looking for some tail and too bad if one of his girlfriends got bumped off."

She looked properly terrified now, which was exactly what Oliver wanted. She had badly misjudged him and she wouldn't be the first… or last. The newspaper reports of his scandalous life often helped in the business world. People thought he was a moronic, silver spoon toting, company figurehead right up until he snatched their businesses out from under their noses.

"What…" She cleared her throat nervously. "What are you going to do?"

"What would you do in my position?" he asked. She shook her head, unable to say anything. Oliver pushed away from the wall, allowing her to slump into a nearby chair, her legs apparently no longer able to keep her up. "I could kill you I suppose," he said offhandedly. "It would save me from having to deal with anything else like this."

"I- I'll call him off," Portia said almost desperately. "He'll never bother you again."

Oliver smiled, and from the look on her face it must have been an unnerving sight. "Oh, I've already taken care of your hired thug. He won't be bothering anyone in this city every again."

"You… you..."

"I took care of it," he said, his voice hard, causing her to shut her mouth with a click of her whitened teeth. "You, however, are the problem here."

Oliver moved to sit in the plush lounge chair across from hers. He leisurely crossed his legs, meticulously resettled his jacket so that the lapels lay smoothly, then clasped his hands in his lap, all the while studying her as if she were an interesting insect.

"You, Portia, are about to leave on an extended trip to Europe."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I want you out of the country by tonight. If my information is correct, you're in debt up to your neck trying to pretend you still have enough money to run in the right circles. I have therefore purchased a plane ticket in your name and the information has been e-mailed to you. Take my advice, Portia. Use the ticket and don't ever come back."

"Why would you do that?" She regarded him curiously.

"Don't misunderstand me." Oliver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I could kill you." She gasped and Oliver shrugged. "But I'm not going to."

Oliver wasn't lying either. He knew what he was capable of. He knew he could kill someone who'd crossed him and threatened his loved ones. Chloe, however, was relying on him. She needed him to be one of the good guys and no matter how much he wanted to hurt this woman for what she'd done, Chloe was what was important. She was his Watchtower in every way that mattered. Physically, emotionally, morally. When he went astray, she was the one who guided him back.

"What if I don't want to go to Europe?" Portia asked, some of her earlier spirit showing again.

"Then you'll be ruined before you know it."

"What?"

"I'm about to start a few carefully placed, but especially nasty rumors about you," Oliver explained casually. "You won't be welcome at a McDonald's in this town, let alone any of the high society events you enjoy so much. Now… if you go to Europe, it will take a little time before the rumors reach there. I would suggest you already have a protector by then. Try Paris. I hear de Montfort is single again. In any case, he's too old and deaf to keep up with the rumor mill anymore. I would start there. Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll die before he gets bored and divorces you like all the others."

Portia sat forward in her seat, furious. "How dare you!"

Oliver was on his feet in a second, towering over her and she cowered down in the chair, holding her hands up to ward him off. "_Me_?" he demanded furiously. His hands were fists and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to back away from her. He took a deep steadying breath and moved toward the door. "I want you gone, Portia. Get out of town," he warned, "or I might change my mind about how lenient I've chosen to be. Understand?"

He waited only long enough for the woman to nod, then left the apartment. She would do what he'd said or there would be hell to pay. Either way, Chloe was waiting for him back at the hospital.

* * *

_More soon… next chapter is D-Day for Oliver... Happy New Year everybody!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Pardon the delay. Sunday afternoon naps are required by law._

Chapter Seven

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" Oliver asked.

"I'm fine," Chloe said, her tone letting him know just how impatient she was getting. "As I've told you the last _thousand_ times you asked."

Oliver completely ignored her grumpy reply. Chloe was back at Watchtower after another two days in the hospital followed by two days at her apartment, where she had been clawing the walls and begging him to let her come back to work. Lois had been on the other end, calling, leaving messages, then showing up in person to threaten him if he so much as thought about letting Chloe go back to work, not to mention the threat of castration if Chloe ever got so much as another hang nail working for Oliver. Thankfully, he'd negotiated that the occasional paper cut wouldn't threaten his manhood. Chloe really did work with too much paper to make that safe.

Unaware of his inner musings, Chloe was already logging in and staring at her bank of screens, going over what she'd missed the last few days, especially what the Kandorians had been up to. Oliver knew she'd been cheating and working from the hospital and home when they weren't watching, but now that she was back in her element, it was full steam ahead.

"If you get tired, you'll tell me." It was a statement, not a question and Oliver gave Chloe a warning glare for good measure. The experimental drug may have accelerated her healing process, but she wasn't 100 percent and they both knew it. Nevertheless, Oliver was willing to ease her back into things at Watchtower as long as he was around to make sure she didn't do too much too soon.

Chloe gave him a longsuffering smile, as she had been doing for most of her forced convalescence. "If you find me passed out at my keyboard, just set up a coffee IV and I'll be good to go."

Oliver frowned. He lightly grasped her arm and turned her so they were face to face. "Not funny," he said quietly. "I thought we were going to quit making jokes about your near death experience."

Her mouth quirked up on one side. "And by 'we', you mean me."

"Is there anyone else here making jokes?"

"Well, I'd feel better if you'd lighten up a bit." She batted her lashes, still amused, albeit resigned to his seriousness. "Playing comic relief all the time is starting to wear me out."

"She says _she's_ worn out," Oliver grumbled.

"Don't get all high and mighty with me," Chloe warned. "Don't think I don't know you're going out on patrol tonight."

Oliver frowned down at her. "So?"

She settled her hand against his side over his restitched ribs. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one who was shot."

"Trying to distract me?" He set his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers. He pulled her hand away from his side and up to his lips. He pressed a warm kiss to her palm, pleased at the tiny frisson of pleasure that raced across Chloe's skin. "It's not going to work, Nurse Sullivan," he said, smiling. "Deflecting my attention never works. That's why my aim is dead on. We were talking about _you_."

"Nurse Sullivan?" Chloe raised an eyebrow and pulled her hand out of his, sliding it around to his back. She pulled him flush against her and all Oliver could think was how much he'd missed her while she was ill. "Is that a suggestion for later?"

Oliver's small smile broadened into a full grin. "Come to think of it, I am feeling a little warm. Maybe you should take my temperature."

"Hmm…" She pressed the back of her free hand to his forehead. "You are a little warm. I may need to see you in my office."

"Luckily," Oliver said with a smirk, "we are in your office." His brow furrowed in mock-anxiety. "This could be serious. It might require a full physical."

Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him down so that their lips were only a breath apart. "Yeah, Ollie," she whispered huskily, "you're really hard to distract." Chloe winked before giving him a gentle push back and returning to her keyboard.

Oliver let out an overly dramatic sigh. "Some nurse you are. The medical system in this country needs a serious overhaul."

Chloe turned around and glared at him. "You know, instead of guarding me from the dangers of typing, why don't you go make yourself useful? I'm out of coffee."

"Can't have that," he replied in all seriousness. "And I'm physically incapable of denying a damsel in distress."

"Oh, you're distressing me all right."

Oliver laughed. "Anything special?"

"I want the house blend from Marco's."

"Now I know you're trying to get rid of me. Marco's is on the other side of town."

She shrugged, although there was definitely a mischievous glint in her eye. "Can I help what my taste buds are begging for?"

"Fine, fine," he said, giving in easily. Chloe knew he was willing to fly to Columbia and pick the beans himself if it would make her happy. In this case, it appeared she wanted him out of her hair for a little while, and that too he could grant easily enough. He would be back in plenty of time to ensure she didn't overtire herself.

Oliver stepped close, purposely invading her space. She turned back to him and set her hand against his chest, her fingers like a warm brand over his heart. It was on the tip of his tongue, the need to tell her how he felt. Too many close calls in too short a time had crystallized his feelings into as clear a picture as it was possible to form. This woman had become his world. She was it. The one. With every fiber of his being he wished his parents were still alive so that he could finally bring someone home to meet them, someone he could be proud to introduce to them.

He knew, however, that Chloe wasn't ready yet. No matter how close a call this one was, she still wasn't able to admit her feelings. While her eyes told him that she knew, that she felt the same way he did, he would have to be patient until she came to accept what he had, that something deeper than friendship had snuck up on them.

Oliver leaned down and kissed her, a chaste kiss by their standards. "I'll be back. Anything else you need while I'm on a supply run?" Chloe shook her head, bemused by the look he was giving her, which was fine by him. He would keep giving her plenty to think about until they were both on the same page. "Type fast. Lois will have my hide if I let you stay here too long."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I better get to work then."

"And I'd better produce the fuel that fires Watchtower's engines."

"I don't _run_ on coffee."

Oliver smiled, stepping back and heading for the door. "Pretty sure you're a new coffee-based life form, Chloe. Decaf's your kryptonite."

Chloe huffed and waved him off. "Fine. As long as the lesser life forms continue to bring sustenance to their master."

"Your wish is my command." Oliver chuckled, already halfway out the door.

* * *

Oliver juggled the two coffee cups so he could pull his ringing phone out of his pocket. He checked the screen and smiled as he answered. "Higher life form or not, you don't get to complain that your coffee is taking too long when you send me to the back of beyond for it."

"_Are you making excuses to your better_?" Chloe asked, amusement coloring her tone.

"Actually I was whining to my better." Oliver paused as an eerily familiar feeling began to creep along his spine. He was being watched.

Oliver ducked into the closest doorway, his eyes searching the surrounding buildings. "It's déjà vu all over again," he muttered.

"_What was that_?"

"Sorry," Oliver said, trying to concentrate on Chloe and locate the source of his discomfort at the same time. "I was looking at something and got distracted."

"_Thought you didn't get distracted_." Oliver could actually hear the smirk in her voice.

"As you so ably demonstrated, it happens."

"_That distraction better not be female_," Chloe said pointedly and Oliver could have jumped for joy. In this case, jealousy was a beautiful thing to behold. It meant Chloe thought of him as _hers_.

"I am currently living in an alternate universe where females do not exist with the exception of one pert, overly intrepid, computer-hacking coffee fiend."

"_Uh huh_," she said, her disbelief plain.

Oliver couldn't see anything that would set his instincts off, but he knew just how well that had worked out the last time he'd come to that conclusion. "It's true," he said, feigning hurt. "You think I'd set up a multi-million dollar think tank for just any pretty pair of legs that walked in off the street?"

"_Yes_," she deadpanned.

"Ouch! See if I wander far and wide for your coffee now."

"_Yeah, yeah. Where are you_?"

Oliver smiled at her impatience. "I'm a block away. I'll be there in a second." Giving up on his useless efforts at figuring out the source of his continued paranoia, Oliver stepped back onto the sidewalk and began moving toward Watchtower.

"_Do you need directions? I know how turned around you can get on a mission_."

"Very funny," he said, although it was true he spent an inordinate amount of time following her directions in and out of places. "For your information I'm in front of your usual coffee stand which would have produced your coffee much, much faster, but in any case, I think I can find my way from here. As a matter of f-"

Oliver was walking past the alley and suddenly an arm came around him, wrapping around his throat. He dropped the coffees and grasped the arm to pry it away, but lost his grip when he felt a burning pain in his side. He felt the sharp drag as a knife was pulled out of his side and once again jammed right back in near his kidneys, then one more time for good measure, all while he was being dragged into the alley out of sight of any passersby.

Oliver dropped his cell phone from nerveless fingers as he was hauled backward by his neck. He tried to twist out of the man's grasp, but that seemed to infuriate his attacker who flipped his hold on the knife and brought it down viciously, stabbing it into Oliver's chest.

Abruptly, the thug dumped him on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Oliver struggled to draw a breath and felt utterly helpless when his body refused to respond. He ordered himself to stay calm and focus on the person trying to kill him, knowing he just needed a second and he'd get his breath back.

"Sneak attack. Not fun, is it, Mr. Queen?"

Oliver still couldn't see his assailant, but this wasn't just a mugging if the guy knew his name. Oliver silently went through every single swear word he knew, in every language he knew, all the while declaring that if he didn't have bad luck, he'd have no luck at all.

Oliver managed to drag in a painful, burning gasp of air as his lungs fought to refill. "Who…" His attempt to speak resulted in a fit of coughing that doubled him over with pain and he realized the knife was still sticking out of his chest. Every instinct he had told him to pull the foreign object out, but his more rational brain reminded him that it was the only thing keeping the hole it had made plugged.

Suddenly, he was kicked so that he was once again flat on his back and a face appeared, hovering above him. "Problem, Mr. Queen?"

"I don't-" Once again Oliver dissolved into a fit of coughing, a new taste of blood in his mouth this time.

"You don't what?" the man snarled. "You don't remember me? You don't understand?"

Oliver ordered himself to focus on the man leaning over him, and realized he did in fact recognize him. He'd thought maybe Portia had sent the hitman after him out of spite, or it was someone sent by any number of people he'd pissed off at some point, but the man who'd brought him down was, of all people, an _accountant_.

Bennington or Pennington… something with "ton", some long pretentious-sounding hyphenated name. He was the accountant who'd brought the financial records to show him that someone was defrauding Queen Industries, not knowing it was Oliver himself using the money to fund Watchtower and his own Green Arrow needs. "Greg," Oliver managed.

"Gregory," the man corrected through gritted teeth. "Gregory Willmington-Pruett. But I take it that means you do remember me."

"Promoted," Oliver gasped. "Promoted you." And he had. He'd made sure the accounts the man had flagged that fed into Watchtower were seemingly closed or sheltered in new dummy corporations, moving all of the business into new accounts, and this guy was given a promotion for being such an asset to Queen Industries and finding the apparent fraud that some unknown criminal had been perpetrating while the company wasn't looking.

"You think I'm stupid?" the man snapped. "You think I didn't check up on what had been done, that I didn't see the flurry of money being shifted? And it was all at _your_ orders." He punctuated the words with a solid kick to Oliver's already injured side.

"It's _my_ _company_!" Oliver shot back, anger fueling his remaining strength.

"You're all the same." Gregory reached down and abruptly jerked the knife out of Oliver's chest. It left a tearing, burning feeling in its wake, but then he was starting to feel a little distant from what was going on. Let that be a lesson to him, Oliver thought. Everyone knew to watch out for the gold-digging hussy, but it was the accountant you really had to keep an eye on. Apparently, this one _really_ didn't like anyone messing with the books.

"You're all a bunch of lying criminals, just ripping the company and its workers off right and left. You couldn't care less about the little guy working in the trenches." He waved the knife back and forth as he spoke, periodically jabbing it toward Oliver's face for emphasis. "You're what's wrong with this country. All you care about is what you can get out of the company for yourself. You're just thieves. I brought you those financials so you would fix it. I didn't do it so you could bury the proof under even more layers of paperwork."

The man leaned down over Oliver, staring him in the face. "I've been following you. Do you ever do anything but take money from the company? You go to parties. You drive fancy cars. You eat out in hoity-toity restaurants. You fly around the world in your fancy jet. You go visit your girlfriend in her fancy apartment building. The only time you went to that cheap diner, you were with some girl no one knows. Were you too ashamed of her to take her to one of your highbrow places? The news said you took off for Europe as soon as she died. And why did she die? You, Mr. Queen. Because you're a useless, lying, thieving, Wall Street, big wig CEO and I'm just one in a long line of guys who thinks the world would be a better place without you."

Oliver was barely following the man's ranting. He coughed again and felt blood spatter his face. He sincerely hoped they cleaned him up in the morgue before anyone else saw him, not to mention that he had no doubt the morgue pictures would show up on the internet. It was just one of the perils of being obscenely rich. It would be his last opportunity for a photo op before the pictures of the casket and extremely dry-eyed mourners at the funeral.

Oliver had often wished that he was as fast as Bart or that he had Victor's internal sensor array to see who was trying to sneak up on him, or that he was invulnerable like Clark. This was probably the first time he'd ever thought A.C.'s ability to breathe underwater would be useful, because that was kind of what he felt like he was trying to do right then.

Beyond all that, however, at this moment, all he really wished was that Chloe hadn't been on the phone to hear him die. She hadn't needed another memory like that. Even now, she was probably frantic in her efforts to save him, useless though they were.

Oliver thought he felt a hand against his chest. Probably Greg going in for the kill, although it seemed a bit like overkill really.

"Sorry," he managed to say. He was sorry Chloe was going to be alone again. He was sorry he wouldn't see their children. He was sorry the team would be down a man, especially when they were facing such an impossible task with the Kandorians. He was sorry he hadn't always lived up to what his parents would have wanted for him. He was sorry he'd wasted huge chunks of his life on drinking and debauchery. He was sorry he'd hurt the people he cared about nearly as often as he'd helped them.

Oliver could feel a hand against his cheek now, and it sounded like someone, maybe a woman was talking to him, but it was useless.

Sorry. Yes, he was. It seemed fitting as last words go.

* * *

_More soon…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Sheep's Clothing**

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

_Gotta watch out for those accountants… sneaky devils. Now let's see if we can't get this little tale wrapped up._

Chapter Eight

* * *

"Oliver, stop fighting. They're trying to help you."

Oliver couldn't breathe. He needed to sit up. Maybe that would help, but he couldn't sit up for some reason.

"Ollie, stop. _Please_."

Chloe. He would do anything she asked of him. She'd saved him before and he trusted her. He would do what she wanted. Even if he couldn't breathe. He'd do what she wanted even if it killed him.

* * *

"Mr. Queen?" Pain seared through his brain as a light shone in his eyes. "Mr. Queen, can you hear me?"

Oliver vaguely registered the cold and realized his shirt must be gone. Someone was prodding at his chest, turning him on his side.

It hurt badly enough that Oliver didn't really want to stick around anymore. In fact, he thought, as the darkness returned to claim him, he didn't think he would.

* * *

"Ms. Sullivan, we really need to talk to him."

"And as I've told you before, Officer Everett, Mr. Queen is not awake yet and I'm not about to let you hurry him just so you can get a statement. I gave you the recording of the call that picked up Mr. Willmington-Pruett's attack. He was a disgruntled and clearly deranged employee who decided Mr. Queen was the cause of the world's problems and he deserves to be locked up."

Oliver would have smiled if he'd actually been more than half-awake. Chloe was using her I'm-talking-to-an-idiot voice, with a healthy dose of I'm-getting-seriously-pissed-off on the side. In truth, however, it was only amusing because for once she wasn't using that voice on _him_. He kind of felt sorry for the guy, now that he thought of it.

"Ms. Sullivan-"

"No," Chloe said, immediately cutting off whatever else the policeman was going to say. "You can talk to him once he's better and not a second before, understand?"

Oliver was fading again, but he felt someone come and lean against the side of the bed. Chloe's warm hand slid into his. She raised it, clasping it close to her chest before he felt the soft brush of her lips against his fingers.

"There's no hurry, Ollie," she said gently. "I'll be here when you wake up." She kissed his hand again, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she added, "Although you know patience isn't my strong suit, so… any time now would be good."

Oliver wanted to sigh in contentment. He would have if his chest weren't so tight. The thing was, he knew it had nothing to do with his injuries.

* * *

"Oliver? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Oliver only half-listened. It sounded like Emil. He probably wanted to talk about one of his projects and Oliver just didn't feel up to it. He'd call him back later.

"Oliver?" A different voice this time, one he didn't want to ignore. "Ollie, come on and open your eyes. I tried the patient thing, but you're starting to worry us."

"You're sure he was waking up?" Emil asked.

"I could have sworn," she answered, although she seemed suddenly uncertain.

Emil sighed and he sounded very tired to Oliver's ears. "His temperature's up again. The experimental drug is trying to heal the injuries, but the infection is working against it. The drug was designed to work for trauma, not infection, so his body is having to do that on its own. His system is just overwhelmed."

"He's getting worse," she whispered, something too close to despair in her voice.

Emil must have thought the same thing because he said, "Oliver's young and he's strong, Chloe. Give him time."

Oliver fought his way to the surface. He didn't like worrying Chloe. She'd had more than enough hardship in her life, some of it caused by Oliver himself, and he'd never want to cause more for her.

"Come on, Ollie," she urged.

He was so hot, nearly boiling from the inside out, and he needed to wake up so he could kick the covers off. He could feel her hand now, cool fingers against his brow. He focused on her touch to use it to guide him as he fought for consciousness. He remembered now why his eyelids were so heavy, why Emil was there with Chloe, why she was so worried, but the more Oliver struggled to awaken and reassure her, the farther and farther away Chloe seemed to be, until finally, it was only Oliver and the darkness left. He wanted to apologize, but that too was lost to sleep.

* * *

Oliver blinked heavy lids, struggling to open his eyes. It felt as if he'd been sleeping for days and at the same time, that he'd only been out for a few minutes. His gaze traveled over the monitor beside the bed, the IV bags and the lines running to his arm, then down to the sensors attached to his finger and to his bandaged chest. He raised a hand to his face, trembling from the effort, and realized that the pressure he was feeling against his cheeks was the plastic tubing from the nasal canula. The oxygen was also the reason his nose was so dry and itchy. Despite that, he supposed he should be grateful. He was breathing after all, and he was pretty sure that had been touch and go while he was out.

Oliver scanned the room and saw that he was in one of the hospital's premium suites, much like the one Chloe had been put in. This one had a recliner as well as a rock hard sofa, but it didn't matter. He was alone.

Oliver closed his eyes and pulled up the blanket covering him, a sudden chill passing over him. He might as well go back to sleep. He'd learned early on that was the best way to get through a lonely stint in the hospital.

The door to the room opened quietly and Oliver opened his eyes to see Chloe walking in, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. His heart thudded in his chest, and he once again cast a glance around the room, this time noticing the satchel Chloe used to carry her laptop on the floor next to the recliner, noticing the little trash can across the room overflowing with coffee cups, coke cans and takeout containers.

Oliver's eyes traveled back to Chloe. Her clothes were rumpled as if she'd slept in them and her hair was mussed, probably from trying to sleep in the recliner. There were darks circles under her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped in weariness. She looked dead on her feet and Oliver thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Refueling?" Oliver asked, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.

Chloe jumped, fumbling and nearly dropping her coffee. As it was, some slopped over the side and she yelped, quickly switching hands so she could raise her burnt fingers to her mouth.

"Sorry," he managed, although even that little word set off a round of coughing, which in turn had him doubled over in agony. His entire chest felt as if it were on fire and he suddenly remembered his psycho accountant who, apart from trying to turn him into a pincushion, had kicked him in his side already injured in the shooting. A body really didn't appreciate that sort of repeated abuse.

The part that really pissed him off was that he'd _promoted_ the guy. Oliver had all kinds of people who wanted to kill him for firing them or shutting down their projects or forcing them to move if they wanted to keep their jobs. This was the first guy who'd ever tried to kill him for moving him _up_ in the company.

"Breathe, Ollie, _breathe_," he heard over the blood rushing in his ears. He felt her hand rubbing circles on his back as the coughing subsided and the pain along with it. It took several minutes, but finally Oliver became aware of his surroundings again and realized he'd twisted onto his side, all of his muscles drawing up protectively and there were tears on his cheeks.

"You ok?" Chloe whispered, looking petrified. She picked up a thermos from a bedside table and brought the straw to Oliver's mouth and patiently waited as he drank. The water was a little stale, but it was better than the finest champagne against his Sahara dry throat.

"Ollie?" Chloe said, sounding desperate. Oliver focused his eyes on her, sorry that he had once again caused that look on her face. "Oliver, don't move," she said, coming to a sudden decision. "I'll get a doctor."

Before she could go, Oliver had her wrist in a vise, keeping her at his side. He very slowly eased onto his back again and made a concerted effort to control his breathing. He could hear a beeping sound and knew it was the sensor on his finger alerting that his oxygen level had dipped. If he didn't fix it, a nurse would be in soon and he didn't want that.

"Ollie?" Chloe said again tentatively. "Ollie, say something."

Oliver tried to come up with something pithy, but all that came out was, "Ow."

"Ow?" Oliver cast her a sideways glance and if her expression was any judge she looked like she wanted to smack him.

"Sorry," he murmured, annoyed at how gravelly he still sounded. "Know it's not as eloquent as 'hey, you'."

"Are you making fun of the woman who hasn't left your side in days?" she asked tartly, although she softened it by leaning forward and running her fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear, then setting her hand against the side of his face.

"Wouldn't dare." He smiled and even that small action was exhausting.

"Do you need anything?" she asked worriedly. "I should really get a doctor. They wanted to wait for you to wake up before they gave you any more pain meds. They need to check you first."

Chloe moved to leave and he once again tugged on her wrist to keep her where she was. "Later." As long as he didn't move and as long as Chloe stayed, he could wait on the drugs.

Oliver focused on Chloe. Even visibly worn out and worried, she was stunning. He released his grip on her wrist and raised his hand to brush the tips of his fingers over her cheek. She'd stayed. She'd stayed with _him_. For once in his screwed up existence, he had someone who wanted to be there, even when times were tough, someone who actually _knew_ him. And for once, when he found someone who wanted to stay with him, he wanted to stay, too. He didn't feel the panic creeping in, or the need to run like he had from so many others who'd tried to get close.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Chloe whispered.

Oliver smiled uncertainly, wondering if he dared tell her the truth. She was so careful of herself, so protective of her beautiful, too generous, too often injured heart. The truth was that he knew he didn't deserve her. The things he'd done, the things he'd cost _her_, the things she must have seen through her cameras when he'd fallen off the good-guy wagon, it was more than any woman should have to put up with. Finally, he said, "I keep waiting."

"Waiting for what?" she asked when he didn't continue.

"For you to figure out I'm not worth the trouble."

Chloe froze, her eyes on his, but only a second later, she smiled kindly, hesitantly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Funny," she looked down, unable to hold his gaze, "I keep waiting for you to figure out the same thing."

Oliver shook his head. Weren't they a pair? Two damaged souls, lonely, distrustful, fearful of commitment, trying to navigate their way through something they both had a feeling could be so much more, all while trying not to screw it up.

"Hmm… Not sure I'll ever figure it out. It's well documented I'm pretty dense." Oliver gave her a tired grin. "Ask any of the papers." He started to cough again, and immediately Chloe had the thermos in front of him, practically jamming the straw in his mouth to stave off another painful round of rib-cracking coughing.

"You need to rest," Chloe said worriedly. "You almost..." A stray tear ran down her face. "Ollie, you don't… you don't know how close it was."

"Infection?"

"The guy cut you open and dumped you in a filthy alley," Chloe whispered, her chin beginning to tremble. "The infection was… the drug to heal you… it wasn't working because the infection was so bad and…"

"Shh," he soothed. "I'm ok." Even those few words of reassurance seemed to be more than she could bear and her brave expression crumpled, leaving Oliver to wonder just how long Chloe had been forced to stand vigil at his almost deathbed. She leaned forward, her face buried in his chest, silently sobbing. He wouldn't have known if he hadn't seen the tear on her cheek or felt how her shoulders were shaking now. Once again, he was reminded of how guarded she was with herself, how slow to acknowledge that they were more than co-workers, more than lovers. He knew that this new disaster would have pushed her beyond her comfort level to admit how deeply they were connected and how frightening it was to have that threatened.

Oliver rubbed his hand over her back in slow circles, relishing the feel of having her close. Coming to a decision, he very, very gingerly scooted to one side, causing Chloe to stand up straight again, her red-rimmed eyes staring at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Making room."

"For what?"

His first thought was to say "for my girlfriend," but what he actually said was, "For you." He patted the bed beside him.

Chloe shook her head. "That's against the rules."

Oliver gave her a conspiratorial wink. "So is hacking the server of every major corporation and law enforcement agency in the country, but I'm pretty sure you do that, too."

She gave him a disapproving glare, but it quickly turned to her more usual resigned, yet amused acceptance that he was a rule-breaking ne'er-do-well. In any case, it was better than the fear or, worse, the sadness that had been on her face since he'd opened his eyes.

Chloe very carefully maneuvered onto the bed beside him, mindful of any wires or lines. She let Oliver put his arm around her as she snuggled closer into his uninjured side.

"The accountant's in jail?" he asked.

"Yes. And so is the hitman. You-Know-Who in Gotham sent word he caught the guy red-handed during an attempt on a city official's life and turned him over to the police."

Oliver nodded. "Good to know." He wasn't surprised Chloe had spent time figuring out just what had happened. It was part of why he'd hired her in the first place.

"This mess means you're also going to have to find another go-to girl for your public appearances."

She didn't sound too displeased about that, while Oliver wanted to be sick at the thought of finding another Portia. "Maybe I'll just go alone for a while," he said.

"Oh?"

"Until I can talk the real thing into going, I'll go stag." He frowned when he realized he was slurring with exhaustion. "It'll confuse the gossip columnists, which is always fun."

"I hate for you to go alone," Chloe offered. "I know how much you hate those things."

Oliver just smiled. His eyes were closed and he knew he was drifting off again. "Not alone," he said quietly, and tightened his arm around her. It wasn't about the parties and it never had been. It had taken this long, but it was true. He wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

_And there you have it. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this. Not sure I'll venture into _Smallville _territory again, but one never knows… Been a pleasure and thanks for reading! _


End file.
